


Round in Circles We Go

by starbunny, WitchyLurker



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (but not really), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Avengers Family, Bucky Barnes as Captain America, Canon Divergence - Avengers (2012), Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America Big Bang 2019 | cabigbang, Captain America: The First Avenger, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Hydra Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Manipulation, Redemption, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Villain Steve Rogers, villain turned good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-12-27 06:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21114185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbunny/pseuds/starbunny, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchyLurker/pseuds/WitchyLurker
Summary: Ever since Steve could remember, he always wanted to do what was right. So orphaned young and alone, Hydra offered him a chance to be part of something more, to help free the world, to save it.Steve took it without question.Years later, he found himself at war with the Americans and the notorious Soldier, slowly coming to the realisation that things were not what they seemed to be at all. But time had never been kind – least of all to Steve – and it was way too late for regrets.(Or the AU where Steve was Hydra but somehow ended up becoming a hero anyway, because some things were just inevitable)





	1. I: Do you think that's enough to stop me?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time participating in a big bang and I'm beyond excited to be able to share this fic with all of you. But before that: 
> 
> A huge thank you to all the mods for running this and taking the time to plan everything and answer everyone's questions. So much work was done behind the scenes to organise this entire bang so thank you for that! All this would not have been possible without you guys! 
> 
> And of course, thank you to [WitchyLurker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchyLurker) for being my artist! I was 99% certain my fic wouldn't get picked by anyone but lo and behold, WitchyLurker came along! Their art is seriously incredible and I'm beyond grateful to be able to work with them for this fic <3 (Definitely check out their other works [here](https://witchylurker.tumblr.com/) )
> 
> Next thank you to [fancyh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancyh) for agreeing to beta. Thank you so much for taking all that time to read through the fic, helping me figure out certain plot points in the story and of course, fixing all my horrendous mistakes! :P (Also!!! They're writing a fic for the bigbang too, which I will definitely put a link here once it's up!) 
> 
> Also thank you to [Aeniala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeniala) for your support over the months ever since the first time I told you about this idea. Thanks for listening to me talk endlessly about this fic and cheering me on! This fic wouldn't be here without you! :) 
> 
> And last of all, thank you to all you guys for reading this fic! I hope you will enjoy where it goes because I definitely had a blast writing this as well :)

## Part I: The Beginning

───── ⋅☆⋅ ─────

The Smithsonian smelled of freshly oiled leather and paint, clean and sterile, nothing at all like the dust on the battlefield, the scent of singed flesh a near permanent feature in the air. Even the sounds – a cheerful melody made from a mix of trumpets and drums – were such a sharp contrast to the dreadful silence of war, cut by the occasional cry and scream.

Everything was just so…

_Fake._

Steve pulled his cap down further and tucked both hands in his pockets, finally stepping through the gates and into the exhibit.

And right off the bat greeting him–

A giant face of none other than Bucky Barnes plastered to the wall, eyes bright and lips quirked into a soft smile.

_The Soldier. A story of honour, bravery and sacrifice._

Steve moved on, walking past the Bucky wax figurine (that embodied every likeness of Bucky but held none of his heart, his soul).

Next came a short panel describing Bucky’s childhood. Born in Brooklyn to a loving family with three sisters – nothing Steve hadn’t already committed to memory – but he read through it all still. Tried to imagine for perhaps the hundredth time what it must have been like for him, running down the streets as a young child, innocence painting the skies in the brightest shades of blue, not grey. As always, he drew a complete blank.

Then it was the segment with the Howling Commandos, with their own respective portraits and a short description to go along with each. Even had their own little theme song. All heroes in their own right, forever etched into history.

And there–

It was like staring into a mirror, except not exactly. The eye colour was wrong, the shade of his hair was much too brown, and his face–

Did he always look that lifeless? Stoic?

Perhaps so.

Steve looked away, eyes flickering to the caption at the bottom of his portrait.

_The Captain. A product of Hydra’s scientific experiments. He was widely regarded to be one of the Soldier’s greatest foes until he was finally taken down in 1944._

And yet here he was nearly seventy years later, still very much alive, very much _not taken down._

Steve swallowed and moved on to the next part – the video room.

It was completely empty – it was a weekday after all – and Steve settled down into the furthest chair, waiting for the film to start.

The narration was dry, one Steve had long memorised by heart, but the film–

Bucky with the Howling Commandos, laughing, smiling. God, even without colour he still looked like the most radiant thing in the world.

More pictures, black and white clips, small little glimpses into a period of history long gone, all while the speakers continued talking of Bucky’s escapades. Leading a war against Hydra, his ultimate sacrifice when he crashed the Valkyrie into the ice, saving millions of lives and bringing down Red Skull and the infamous Captain once and for all. Credited with single-handedly taking down the entire Hydra organisation, Bucky was the saviour, the hero, the one and only. It was everything he deserved and nothing at all.

What he deserved was to be here, breathing, alive, to see the fruit wrought by all his efforts. Not this, _never_ this. Steve let out a soundless sigh when the video faded into black, but he remained seated still, until the video started again, narration crackling to life. Bucky laughing, smiling again. _Happy._

Then it faded to black, and Steve became acutely aware that he was alone in the room no more.

He straightened his back, but didn’t turn around. Didn’t need to.

Steve picked up the slightest pattering of footsteps all around him. Nine, maybe ten. A sizeable squad.

He still didn’t look up.

“Do you think that’s enough to stop me?”

More footsteps. The faintest ruffling of a long coat. Just one person directly behind him.

“No,” the man admitted. “Just a precaution.”

Steve finally stood up and turned around, coming face to face with none other than Nicholas Fury, Director of SHIELD himself. Posture open, no visible weapons.

“We need to talk, Captain.”

“You have to be seriously desperate if you’re actually coming to me.”

Fury didn’t comment on that, and instead asked, “How would you like a job?”

Every muscle in Steve’s body went rigid.

“Not interested.”

“We’ll pay twice the going rate.”

“_Not interested,_” Steve growled once more, already making a beeline for the nearest exit.

“We need your help,” Fury said. “The _world _needs your help.”

Steve didn’t miss the unusual lilt to his voice, a tiny sliver of emotion peeking through, but he continued walking. The world always needed help, it always needed saving, why was this any different?

“It’s about the Tesseract,” Fury finally said, and Steve stopped dead in his tracks at the doorway. “It’s missing.”

Steve jerked back.

“Missing? You fucking _lost _it?”

“We didn’t lose it,” Fury said tersely. “It was taken.”

“Who?”

“Some guy called Loki. He’s…not from here.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at Fury, but the man calmly returned the gaze, still unwavering. 

A minute passed.

“I’m not cheap,” Steve finally relented.

“Like I said, twice the going rate.”

“Thrice. And you owe me a favour. Again.”

Money was no issue for SHIELD; favours on the other hand, that was a separate thing altogether, a valuable thing indeed, and Steve saw Fury hesitate for the briefest second, before finally nodding. God, they must seriously be very desperate.

“You have a deal," Fury agreed, pulling out a thumb drive and handing it over.

Steve pocketed it easily and made his way to the exit once again.

“How do we contact you?”

“You don’t,” Steve said. “I will.”

\----------

Strength and intelligence were the two most prized qualities Hydra was on the constant lookout for.

Steve as a young child, newly orphaned, had neither of those things, riddled with an endless list of medical issues that should have deemed him worthless to Hydra’s cause, unfit to even be a stepping stone for those born to be great.

What he did have though, bottled in his tiny body and brimming full of it, was sheer tenacity. The tiny fiery will to push through anything no matter who or what he was up against, and that, Hydra had decided, was just about enough to grant him some shred of purpose to his miserable, pathetic life.

That was how he found himself indoctrinated into the prestigious Hydra academy, ready to embark on his new journey to shape himself into something great, something Hydra could use to help save the world.

It was everything he dreamed of and nothing at all.

Going to classes, learning to free himself from the burden of emotion, learning the world’s best espionage techniques, codebreaking, hacking, fighting moves, weaponry and–

Strapped down to the ice-cold metal table, heaving and doing everything he could not to strain, not to show weakness. There was no place for the weak in Hydra.

“Tell me, Mister Rogers, what do you wish for?” Armin Zola asked, rummaging for something across the room.

“…To serve Hydra,” Steve replied instinctively, voice cracking.

“And what does that mean?”

“Order. Stability,” Steve shakily responded, biting down hard to muffle his wince as the next bout of pain hit, fiery hot and whiting out his vision. “_Freedom_.”

“That’s right,” Zola hummed in approval, coming back into his field of vision with a syringe in hand, already loaded with the doctor’s latest chemical cocktail.

Steve’s heart started thumping anew, pounding hard against his ribcage.

Why did this part never get any easier?

“You should be honoured, Mister Rogers. So few get the chance to be a part of something great, to write history itself,” Zola said as he ambled towards Steve’s side, needle prepped at his arm.

“…Thank you. Sir.”

Zola nodded, and Steve bit down when the needle slid in, cold liquid emptying into his veins.

For the briefest moment, there was nothing, just cold, blissful peace.

Then the heat came crashing down, and Steve started screaming.

\----------

It took two whole days before Steve finally caught up to Loki’s plans, dropping into the battle at Stuttgart with a vicious throw of the famous silver vibranium shield and knocking the wannabe god back a few steps.

Both Black Widow and Iron Man jerked to the side. The Widow’s eyes narrowed at him, and Steve liked to think Iron Man’s did the same.

“The Captain,” Loki sneered, planting his staff firmly into the ground. “War criminal.”

Steve said nothing, taking a few seconds to survey his newest target – cape, pointy horns and all. Flair for the dramatic with grandiose ambitions, nothing at all ground-breaking. Steve had faced countless foes just like him over the past seventy years.

“Captain,” the Widow greeted curtly.

“Widow,” Steve returned, catching the shield and charging right out at Loki with a low growl.

The fight was short but brutal, and unlike the countless foes Steve had faced who lacked any basis for their inflated sense of self-confidence, Loki actually _did _possess the power and ability to justify his obnoxious arrogance. Which was one: somewhat worrying as an actual threat, and two: absolutely aggravating.

But still, the three of them made quick work of him, knocked to the ground with Iron Man’s repulsor blast aimed at him and a razor-sharp shield edge pressed to his neck.

“That’s enough. We need him alive,” the Widow said, sharply enough that Steve looked up but complied, pulling the shield off.

The Widow cuffed Loki, and Steve followed them back onto the SHIELD jet, settling down into the furthest seat.

“The Captain, huh?” Iron Man quipped, robotic voice having absolutely no inflection to it. “Still looking pretty spry for someone your age.”

Steve didn’t respond.

“Pretty interesting file you have there. The thickest one out of the bunch too, might I add. A whole seventy years worth of criminal activity. Murder in the fifties, thievery in the sixties and seventies, spying in the eighties, and murder again in the nineties.” Iron Man gestured vaguely in the air. “But it’s kind of surprising really. You’d think that someone who basically invented the term ‘war criminal’ would have a more impressive kill count – we’re talking genocidal impressive, but–”

“_Stark_,” Widow warned from the cockpit.

“Hey, it’s a judgement-free zone here,” Iron Man said in Widow’s direction, then turned to Steve again. “What’s in it for you anyway? Fury’s firstborn child? The blood of a virgin? Did Fury–”

“Fifteen million dollars.”

It was clear that Iron Man didn’t actually expect a response, pausing for a short second before regaining his composure – his irritating, chatty composure.

“Oh wow.” Iron Man gave a single chuckle. “That’s _almost _what I’ve been earning since I turned ten. Hey, that reminds me, when I was ten–”

Steve could not be more grateful for the most timely flash of lightning in the sky, followed by a deafening boom of thunder. 

“Where is this coming from?”

The answer came as a heavy thump on the jet’s roof, and Steve tightened his grip on the shield, readying himself for a fight again.

\----------

One of the first lessons Hydra taught him in school was that attachment was a weakness, a weakness that could be exploited, and Hydra had no time to waste on the soft and sentimental. To survive you had to be stronger, faster, better than everyone else.

“That all you got?” Hodge laughed, and two of his other lackeys joined in, cackling along.

Face in the dust and matted with grime. Metal in his mouth. Fiery bruises blossoming all over.

And still Steve forced himself back up on both feet.

“I can do this all day,” he declared. “You stupid _fucker!_”

Hodge’s eyes flashed once before he charged out with a scream, and any lingering doubt Steve had about Hodge letting him off easy instantly evaporated away.

Steve’s lips curled into a wry smile, bracing himself for the pain. The punishment.

He wasn’t disappointed.

It was only much later, in the murky darkness, the dead silence, when the pain became enough to chip its way through those impenetrable walls encasing his mind like mice slowly but surely biting through thick rope, fiber by fiber, that Steve’s thoughts finally started to wander.

A small piece of _something._ Not Hydra’s. Just his and only his. He’d guard this for as long as he could, with everything he had. He didn’t remember much, but what he did remember was this:

Long blonde hair, a soft voice. The lyrics of a nameless lullaby he shouldn’t know, but he did. He did, and for the briefest moment reliving the ghostly whisper of something that couldn’t be anything but warm, warmer than a candle in the coldest winter, came understanding_. _Understanding of what family was, what love must be like.

Steve knew for certain.

He used to be loved_._

\----------

SHIELD trusted Steve as far as they could throw him, giving him a wide berth wherever he went, as if he was walking around with a giant force field warding people away.

Iron Man – now Stark outside the suit – and Doctor Banner were off to their respective workstations to help track down the Tesseract, and Thor was off somewhere with the Widow, which left him under the watchful eye of Agent Coulson, probably under orders not to let him out of sight.

Steve didn’t pay that much attention, Coulson was hardly a threat after all, and he took the chance to pull out his favourite butterfly knife from his belt instead, throwing and twisting it in the air.

A few flips, twirls, spins, then a closing snap, and a nearby SHIELD agent flinched hard.

“Stop that,” Coulson finally said, palm out towards him.

Steve didn’t bother glancing up, but tossed the knife over in Coulson’s general direction which he caught easily. Such a buzzkill.

He got back up, taking extra care to drag his chair back as loud as he could – the same SHIELD agent flinched again, because _seriously? _– and then made his way to the door.

“Where are you going?”

Steve didn’t bother replying, but when he was out of earshot (what they assumed was out of earshot anyway), he heard Fury pipe up, “It’s fine. We have cameras all around.”

“With all due respect sir, it’s a mistake bringing him on board this,” Coulson said. “You know his history. What he did. SHIELD bases, agents, _good men_, all gone because–”

“Because he got _paid _to do so. It was nothing personal. Just a matter of who offered the most coin,” Fury returned. “We can use that.” 

“You can’t seriously believe that.”

“There’s no precedent of him double-crossing his employers in the past seventy years.” 

“Yet.”

Steve lost interest in eavesdropping right then, trekking down the endless hallways of the Helicarrier. He spotted his first hidden camera about two steps down, a microphone, and then promptly decided to make a game out of it, mapping the placement of every camera and microphone he could possibly find_._

Another three corridors down and Steve got bored of his little game, turning his attention to the surrounding SHIELD agents instead, pilfering their keycards and seeing where those could get him. That too got boring quick after four consecutive entries into the janitor’s closet.

Then he went upstairs, walking past Banner and Stark’s lab. Both didn’t even notice him, completely absorbed in their work. Stark offered Banner some blueberries from a packet which the man accepted with a smile, and the sight instantly transported Steve back seventy years into the past – a snowstorm. Bucky offering him some biscuits from a similarly shaped packet.

Steve froze at the door, blinking once. Twice.

If Bucky had been here today, he’d probably have befriended them all in a heartbeat, welcomed them under his wing. He was good that way. Social, friendly, with a smile that could probably seduce even the most bloodthirsty siren to have a change of heart.

But it wasn’t a siren’s heart Bucky ultimately changed.

It was–

And it was too–

_Late._

Steve snapped all the keycards he forgot he was holding, watching as they fell to the floor, all reduced to broken fragments now.

\----------

Some would have said Steve’s meeting with Erskine was fate. Steve never saw it that way. It wasn’t fate, it was a curse.

It had been another ordinary day, fresh out from Zola’s lab.

“Now hurry along back, Mister Rogers,” Zola had said. “And clean up the table before you leave, will you? It’s filthy.”

“Yes sir.” Steve barely even registered his own reply, but obediently stumbled down from the table – now completely slick with a mixture of his own sweat and blood. His whole body was numb, thoughts stuck in a standstill, like being trapped in a pool of thick, viscous mud. Steve limped towards the cleaning area, pouring alcohol over the rag and returning back to the table, systematically wiping it down. It did nothing to clear his thoughts. He gave a final wipe and tossed the dirtied rag away, about to make his way to the door when Zola piped up again.

“Oh,” he said, turning around. “Take this tray to Block B. Just slot it in somewhere, doesn’t really matter where.”

Steve took the tray Zola thrust towards him with a nod, eyes going wide at what was _on _it. Food. _Good _food. Steak, potatoes, vegetables.

Steve’s stomach made an unhappy gurgle and he quickly averted his gaze, gripping the tray more tightly as he made his way down to Block B, all the way at the opposite end of the academy.

It felt like an endless walk, made worse by the freezing winds out in the open, and when he escaped back indoors safely tucked away in some semblance of warmth, he breathed out a sigh of relief.

Finding where he was supposed to go was easy from there. There was only a single light emanating out from the end of the corridor. Steve walked towards it, taking care to straighten his back and school his expression into something neutral.

He had no idea where he was going, or who he was delivering this food to, but the fact that they were getting served vegetables that could actually be classified as _green _told Steve more than enough.

But what awaited him behind the corner was nothing he expected.

There were thick metal bars spanning from the floor to the ceiling, and a huge lab was set up within, outfitted with all the latest equipment Steve recognised from Zola’s own lab.

He must have made some sound, for a voice suddenly spoke up.

“I’m not doing it. You can hurt me all you want, tortur–” Then it stopped, and Steve found a pair of eyes trained on him, peering over a steel metal chair. An elderly man, with sunken eyes and an almost ash-grey complexion. “Who are you?”

Steve recognised the accent. German. And if he was imprisoned, that meant–

_Traitor. _Steve narrowed his eyes. But why was a traitor getting such good food? And why was he given this huge lab?

Steve buried those questions immediately. Hydra didn’t appreciate curiosity. He placed the tray on the floor, pushing it closer.

“He thinks a plate of good food will change my mind?” the man muttered under his breath. “It won’t.”

Steve had no idea what he was talking about, but it wasn’t his business to care anyway. His job was done here.

He made his way out into the cold again, trudging back to the dorms and curling into his assigned bed, falling into a restless sleep with the phantom pains from Zola’s session still clinging to his body, never fully fading away.

He forgot about the man easily enough, until his next session with Zola came a few days later, and Steve was sent off with a tray again, deep into the freezing night.

The man looked worse for wear, barely even giving him a second glance as Steve put the tray down.

The third time, the man asked, “What’s your name?”

Steve looked up but didn’t respond, walking off again.

The fourth time, he asked the same question again. Steve didn’t answer.

Then a fifth time, and Steve finally said, “I’m not allowed to speak to you.”

The man blinked, then spoke again, “I’m Abraham Erskine.”

It was Steve’s turn to blink, before narrowing his eyes and then leaving. The last thing he needed was to put a name to the face of a strange man stuck in a strange jail cell.

The sixth.

He nodded to Steve.

Eighth.

He smiled at Steve.

Eleventh.

He _thanked_ Steve.

The thirteenth time, and Steve was hobbling to Block B alone in the cold once more, barely able to see straight.

Zola’s experiments had been getting more intense than usual over the weeks – or was Steve just getting weaker? It didn’t matter either way. His mind was fragmented, he wasn’t even sure what he was feeling was pain anymore, because how could anyone take so much hurt but still not die? It shouldn’t– _It shouldn’t– _

Steve ignored Ers– the man as he limped in, sucking in a long, deep breath as he knelt down, putting the tray at the usual spot and promptly getting back up again.

It was a mistake. The world split into two, the pain hit all at once, just a single moment of weakness, and Steve collapsed back to the floor, biting down hard to suppress a whimper. Hydra didn’t like weak. And Steve, he _wasn’t _weak.

“…What did they do to you?” a voice asked, barely audible and unbelievably soft, but managing to shatter through every barrier in Steve’s mind.

He jerked up.

It was a mistake, because there was the man, there was Erskine, crouched down at the metal bars separating them just close enough to touch, with eyes so–

Steve didn’t want to put a name to it.

He immediately scrambled back up on both feet, firmly ignoring all the pain – was this still pain? – and dragging himself down the damn corridor and towards the door, no matter how much his body protested and screamed to be put to rest.

Steve slammed open the doors, and firmly told himself it wasn’t the coward’s way out. It wasn’t fleeing. It wasn’t.

\----------

Loki wasn’t breaking no matter what SHIELD did, and Steve was tired of his sneers and gloats, tired of Coulson’s piercing glare into his back, and more than tired of waiting around doing nothing.

He didn’t doubt that Banner and Stark were working as fast as they could, but this was just going absolutely nowhere.

Loki clearly had a plan, he got himself captured for a reason. Every second he remained on board the Helicarrier was another second of victory for him, and Steve was absolutely _sick _of it.

He got up with the shield clipped to his back, taking but a mere second to steal Coulson’s SHIELD card as he brushed past him and headed off. Time to get answers from that stupid god himself.

And as it turned out, Loki was there waiting for him.

“I was wondering when you’d turn up.”

Steve said nothing as he stepped deeper in.

“Does SHIELD know you’re here?” Loki asked.

As if on cue, a loud bang and a voice came from outside the steel doors.

“Captain, you are not authorised to be there!”

Coulson.

Steve flung the shield at the door, burying deep into the lock with a screech and jamming it shut.

“CAPTAIN!”

“I guess that answers that,” Loki said with a stupid smirk on his face. Then he raised both palms in the air as if to say ‘well?’ 

Steve just gave him a look. As if it wasn’t obvious what he wanted. Loki’s smirk widened.

“I can see it,” Loki began. “You and I. We are of the same kind.”

Steve blinked, stepping closer to the glass barrier and meeting Loki’s eyes. A mystical shade of dark green, with flecks of emerald that had no place in this world.

“How much is SHIELD paying you?”

Steve stared.

“You’ve seen what I can do,” Loki said. “What SHIELD can give you is all but minuscule compared to what I can offer you.”

“And what are you offering?”

The banging outside the doors grew more insistent, but Steve ignored it.

“Name a price.”

“No.”

“No?” Loki raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t want your money.”

Loki gave a dry laugh.

“It’s not just money I can offer you. You want respect? Power? I can make you king of any country of your choosing. Just name it, I can get you anything your heart desires.”

Steve wanted a great many things, none of which could be given by a slippery snake god with an appalling sense of fashion.

“You know exactly what I want,” Steve snarled. “Tell me what you’re planning.”

Loki laughed again.

“Do you really think you can beat me? You and your…_team. _Just a bunch of liars and killers and cowards,” Loki mocked. “You’re playing on the wrong battlefield here, Captain. Do you really want a repeat of what happened seventy years ago with Hydra?”

Steve stilled, and Loki’s lips twisted into a cruel smirk.

“Oh yes. Agent Barton told me everything,” he said. “It must tear you apart, to see everything you’ve worked for, _lived _for, broken down in a single instance.”

Steve’s fingers tightened into a fist.

He knew what was written in the history books, and exactly every word written of him in SHIELD’s database. Speculations and lies, all of it. The real truth died along with Bucky seventy years ago, locked in the cold, dark Arctic ice, never to be found or seen again. Dead. Gone forever. Nothing he deserved.

Loki’s smirk widened.

“Oh, did I strike a nerve, Captain?”

Steve’s fists tightened even further.

“SHIELD may have some compunctions about torture and murder,” Steve said. “I don’t.”

“It’ll definitely be entertaining to see that unfold,” Loki said evenly, then laughed. “Well actually, let’s test that conviction, shall we?”

He paused.

“In just under a minute now, a bomb will go off, and my team will be ready to free me from this metal cage and this flying fortress of yours. You could remain here, make quick work of them and exact that interesting plan of yours.” Loki smirked again. “But in under a minute, Agent Barton would have made his way upstairs with a second bomb–”

Steve froze.

“–I trust you know exactly where exactly he’s heading.”

Steve didn’t even wait for him to finish before bolting off, tugging the shield free and wrenching the door open. He barged right past Coulson and sped down the hallway, up the stairs, his mind filled with nothing but a sea of red.

The same red smeared over Zola’s table after he was done for the day. The same red on the snowy wasteland after a fight broke out from both sides. The same red smeared over Bucky’s dog tags when Steve woke up to a new day and Bucky _didn’t_.

No. Never again–

Steve smashed through the lab door with the shield, blowing it right off the hinges, shouting,

“GET DOWN!”

Everyone in the room jumped, but Steve’s eyes immediately snapped to the one thing–

Red falling from the ceiling through a shattered vent. Flashing, beeping. _Red._

He jumped forth with the shield up. It wouldn’t be enough, but it would _have to be. _

Steve heard the bomb clink as it connected with the shield, barely had enough time to knock it back to the furthest corner of the room and–

Everything exploded.

Glass shards came pouring down like hailstones as Steve got knocked back into the ground, tumbling over a few times and slamming into a wall. There was a loud crack, and pain shot up his left arm. Steve instantly gritted his teeth. Definitely broken, but not totally displaced. Just barely functional. His ears were ringing, vision blurred to a near white, with a blaze of fresh orange light piercing through it all. And heat. Smoke.

The next wave of pain hit. Chest. Leg. The back of his head. Rib fractures, contusions, abrasions. Still functional. Steve coughed and forced himself up with a grunt, reaching over to grab the shield that had fallen over beside him.

The ground started to shake. There was a loud screech, and the Helicarrier let out a rumble that definitely did not sound good.

Steve quickly scanned the room, the fresh new wreckage. Smoke and dust everywhere. Was–

A grunt caught Steve’s attention, and he spotted a moving lump at the foot of a splintered table, groaning in pain but very much alive. Steve stepped over to pull the man back up on his feet.

It was Stark. Staring back at Steve with eyes wide and jaw slightly slack. Steve hated that expression.

“Get your fucking coca cola can suit ready,” Steve ordered, and that stupid expression was instantly wiped away.

Stark made a sound somewhere between a whine and a groan.

“It’s not a coca cola can and you know it!” Stark shouted, already dashing out into the burning hallway.


	2. I: Are you trying to insult me?

Erskine’s lab – or jail cell – was quiet no more the fourteenth time Steve was sent to deliver food.

It was as if it had been transformed into an entirely different place altogether, with sounds of bubbling, whirring, clanging – all too reminiscent of Zola’s lab.

“I made a deal,” Erskine explained when Steve came in, even though he never asked. “It’s not…” He shook his head. “Nevermind, it doesn’t matter.”

And Steve left.

The seventeenth time, Erskine asked for his name once again.

Steve didn’t reply.

The twentieth time, there was a small packet of biscuits left at the metal bars, at the exact spot where Steve usually left the food tray. He frowned at that.

“It’s for you,” Erskine said softly.

Steve made no move to take it, standing back up and stepping away. Erskine smiled sadly at that. 

“…There are cameras here,” he felt the need to say.

“Oh.”

Steve started making his way back to the exit, when Erskine spoke again.

“Will you tell me your name?”

Steve hesitated for the longest moment at the door, then finally muttered, “It’s Steve.”

The twenty-first time, Erskine asked him a different question.

“Why did you join Hydra, Steve?”

That one was easy to answer.

“To fight,” Steve said before leaving.

The twenty-second time.

“So what do you fight for?”

“Freedom,” Steve said easily.

“And what does that mean to you?”

“Order. Stability,” he recited.

Erskine smiled at that. “Are those your words, or someone else’s?”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “What are you implying.”

“I’m just trying to understand.”

Steve frowned and left the room.

The twenty-fifth time, Steve asked his first question. The only question that mattered.

“Why did you betray Hydra?”

“Because it was wrong.”

“You think fighting for freedom is wrong?”

Erskine stopped to look at him.

“No. It’s not wrong. But the kind of freedom you’re fighting for is.”

The twenty-seventh time, Erskine said, “I was from Augsburg. Have you ever been there?”

Steve shook his head.

“It was a nice place.”

Steve didn’t miss the way he said ‘was’.

The twenty-eighth time, Steve wasn’t sent with a tray to Block B.

Neither was he on the twenty-ninth.

Or the thirtieth.

Steve tried not to think about it, or worse, _feel_ anything about it. Erskine was a prisoner, nothing more than a traitor to Hydra’s cause. He shouldn’t matter.

And yet–

Why was he somehow the most human person Steve had ever met?

Why did Steve feel so…_empty? _

\----------

It was all hands on deck in the Helicarrier. Iron Man was out in the open trying to restart the engine, Thor and the Widow were busy fighting against a newly emerged Hulk, Fury was fending off an attack at the main deck, and Steve was dashing through the engine room on his way back down towards Loki’s cell, shield prepped at his arm with a crudely made splint holding his left arm together – held in place by a broken piece of metal strapped to his gauntlet.

The entire ship was shaking precariously, falling apart piece by piece, and a sudden flash of metal and a whooshing sound immediately had him ducking to the ground, barely dodging an incoming projectile whizzing past.

An arrow.

Another flash of metal. This time, Steve took note of its trajectory and knocked it back with the shield, gritting his teeth when his arm flared up with pain.

There, up in the scaffolding.

He jumped back onto his feet and threw the shield out. It slammed into the metal grills above and promptly flew back down to his waiting arm.

A shadow dropped down soundlessly.

It was Agent Barton. Brainwashed, made into Loki’s obedient little slave. Steve knew a thing or two about that.

Steve rolled to the side to dodge another arrow and charged out at Barton, shield going straight for the head.

Barton blocked that with his bow, grunting as Steve pressed down even harder, edge of the shield easily denting his bow. Steve’s serum-enhanced strength against ordinary human strength, a losing battle for Barton, and the man immediately lashed out with a kick, throwing Steve off and putting some distance between them.

“Barton,” Steve said, but there was absolutely no response from the man, not even a twitch. Like no one was home at all, just standing there, waiting.

Steve lunged back out with a growl, shield out. Barton finally reacted, whipping out a dagger and countering the blow. A twist, a flick of a hand, Steve angled the shield down to block a slice and firmly knocked him back to the ground.

“You can’t beat me,” Steve said, and it was the truth.

Barton didn’t care, getting back up and waiting for Steve to make his move. Eyes blank.

Steve came at him with the shield yet again, and Barton retaliated with a mix of quick jabs and knife slices. Steve easily dodged or countered all of them.

“Barton,” he tried again.

Still no response.

And Steve finally decided to end this, knocking the knife out with a twist and grabbing Barton by the neck. A grunt, a feeble struggle, but it was all utterly useless. Steve slammed him to the ground in a single move, knocking him out cold.

\----------

It was nearly a month before Steve saw Erskine again, only this time, it wasn’t to bring food to him. He was summoned there by Hydra leader Johann Schmidt himself, with no preparation or explanation whatsoever, just rudely woken up early one morning and ordered to head down to Block B immediately.

Steve did as he was told, but he couldn’t help the way his heart started fluttering anew, thumping hard against his chest.

He entered the lab, and his eyes immediately fell onto Erskine, then a large cylindrical chamber just beside him, large enough for a single human to fit inside. That wasn’t there just a month ago. Steve swallowed.

“Ah, Mister Rogers, you have arrived,” Zola piped up from the side, with four guards flanking him and a large, tall man standing by his side – whose face Steve only had the honour of knowing from mere pictures. Steve’s heart was roaring in his ears now.

“Doctor Zola,” he greeted dutifully. “Herr Schmidt.”

Schmidt didn’t even bother acknowledging him, impatiently waving towards Erskine.

“Are we ready to begin?”

“Yes,” Erskine said.

“Go on then. Stop wasting my time,” Schmidt snapped. “I trust you know the consequences should you fail?”

“It won’t fail.”

Steve then caught sight of a large needle in Erskine’s hand, immediately going tense.

“Come here, Steve,” Erskine said softly.

He obeyed. What else could he have done? This was what he was here for after all. To serve Hydra. Do his part.

Steve got onto the metal table as instructed, but Erskine didn’t use the straps to tie him down – not like Zola. He took deep breaths to try to calm himself, until a hand was laid on his and Steve stiffened.

“It’s okay,” Erskine whispered. Steve’s eyes jerked up to meet his. “It’s going to be okay, Steve.”

Steve gave the smallest nod, even though he didn’t exactly believe him. Erskine squeezed gently before letting go, moving out of his field of vision to prepare the equipment.

There was some clattering noise around him. Steve caught sight of a flash of bright blue, and Erskine was back with the needle in hand, filled with a bright blue solution.

“Take a deep breath.”

Steve did as he was told, shutting his eyes as he felt the prick of the needle, an ice-cold fluid injected straight in.

A few seconds, and all of Steve’s muscles started tingling, then burning, then–

Steve grit his teeth hard to muffle any sound of pain.

“It’s okay, Steve. Trust me.”

Steve couldn’t even reply if he wanted to, too focused on keeping himself as silent and as motionless as possible. Hydra didn’t like weak. Steve wasn’t weak.

A whirr, and a metal contraption was lowered onto him, effectively trapping him in this steel cage.

Light started filling the chamber and the pain quickly intensified, turning white-hot and hollowing him out, until there was nothing else left for Steve to do except scream.

\----------

Emptiness was exactly what Steve felt after Loki’s attack was over, seated with his legs dangling over the edge of a metal platform.

His broken left arm was rested over his lap, throbbing and itching as it always did while the serum worked overtime to repair the damage.

His right arm was also on his lap, fingers curled around the familiar handle of his butterfly knife, metallic sheen now marred by flecks of dried blood. Coulson’s blood. Steve hadn’t wiped it away yet and honestly, he wasn’t so sure he _could._

Then he heard a soft shuffle behind him, like somebody trying to be quiet but failing miserably. That already narrowed the options down to, well, basically one.

“Do you know where Loki’s headed?” Steve asked without turning around.

The footsteps paused for a second, then restarted, stopping a few feet away from him.

“Not yet, no,” Stark answered, then said nothing else for a long minute. He showed no signs of leaving either.

“What do you want?” Steve finally prompted.

“I watched the tapes,” Stark began. “You had the chance to kill Loki then.” _But you didn’t _left unsaid.

“Would you rather be dead?” Steve asked dryly.

“Well honestly that’s debatable, depends on a lot of factors. The day of the week, how many drinks I’ve had and – actually, it doesn’t matter. A war criminal wouldn’t have made the choice you made back there,” Stark said, pausing for a bit. “You know, I meant what I said back then. Your kill count is frankly…very unimpressive.”

Steve already didn’t like where this conversation was going, but he didn’t say anything, clipping his butterfly knife back onto his belt, blood be damned.

“I mean, if you’re really as strong as the serum made you to be, you definitely could have done more damage than that. Like seriously – seventy years and that’s all you did? And what was with that eight year gap in the 1970s where you basically vanished off the grid? Taking a vacation? You’re like…the _worst _war criminal ever.”

Steve turned to stare at him.

“…Are you trying to insult me?”

“No. Well, yes. Maybe.” Stark shrugged. “But see, given your history – eight year long vacation included – and what happened earlier with Loki, it’s not really that huge of a claim to say you just don’t live up to your name. I don’t think you even seriously tried to b_–_”

“Let’s get this straight,” Steve said curtly. “The past is the past. And what happened with Loki – I didn’t do for you. I didn’t do it for anybody. And I sure as hell didn’t do it for whatever you think I did it for. It was just playing the long game. Lose a fight, win the war. That’s it.”

Stark didn’t back down, returning his gaze calmly, eyes glinting with something that looked all too much like victory. Steve narrowed his eyes and Stark’s lips curled into a wry smile.

“That’s like, definitely the longest I’ve ever heard you speak for,” he announced after a heartbeat. “Did I beat a record? Can I get a prize? Trophy? I’ll even settle for a–”

Did he ever shut up?

“Just find Loki,” Steve ordered, getting back up on both feet and peering down at his left arm again. The pain was still there, but his arm held strong. Not a hundred percent back to normal, but good enough. He unstrapped the metal piece and tossed it aside, to which Stark made a dismayed sound at.

“Wait. Your arm was broken all this while?!”

“Not anymore.”

“What the fuck.” Stark pulled a face. “I break an arm and I get stuck in a cast for _months_. You though, you just get to walk it off. How the hell is that even fair?!”

God, he really just couldn’t shut up, could he?

“Just.” Steve took a breath. “Find. Loki.”

\----------

Steve emerged from the chamber with his skin burning hot and feeling strangely much taller than before.

“It works–” a voice was saying, which Steve’s mind immediately recognised as Schmidt’s. Why was his voice so loud? Why was everything so loud?

“Steve?” another voice cut through. It was Erskine. Steve blinked a few times before his vision cleared.

“–have what we want. So I guess you’ve finally outlived your usefulness.”

Near instantly, there was a loud bang, and Erskine was crumbling to the floor, fresh crimson staining his near pristine white lab coat.

Steve reached out instinctively.

“_Don’t_,” Erskine whispered harshly. Steve froze, catching himself just in time. Erskine was a prisoner, a traitor, and Steve was Hydra. They weren’t– This wasn’t–

Erskine cracked a weak smile. “It’s okay, Steve.”

The red started spreading and Steve could do nothing but stand and watch, hands shaking, tightly clenched by his side.

“Keep fighting. Don’t forget who you are,” Erskine said, and that was it. His eyes slid shut, head lolling to the side.

Steve closed his eyes tight for a second, took a breath in, and opened them again.

“He’s dead,” Steve said with absolutely no inflection. Shoulders lowered, stance neutral. Just cold as steel, emotionless, like what Hydra expected him to be.

Except his fists that remained tightly clenched at his side, still shaking.

\----------

Loki was headed to Stark Tower.

Stark himself had already suited up in his damaged suit and blasted off first, leaving Steve with the task of finding his own transport there, which thankfully wasn’t at all too difficult. He was on the Helicarrier after all, equipped with the latest weaponry, fighter jets, and most importantly, stupidly oblivious SHIELD agents who should really learn to keep a closer eye on their SHIELD cards.

It took Steve basically two tries to get a card with the appropriate level of access, and he quickly found his way into one of the jets, flicking the controls and buttons. Nothing lit up. Damn.

“You know it’s voice-activated right?” a voice said from behind.

There was only one person in the world who could sneak up on him like that.

“Widow,” Steve greeted evenly.

“Captain,” the Widow returned, footsteps made audible again as she stepped into the plane, flame-red hair flawless as always. “Heading to Stark Tower, I presume?”

She walked in and tossed something in his direction which Steve caught easily. Some sort of metal tumbler. Steve frowned slightly.

“Nutrition shake,” Widow explained, sitting down in one of the pilot seats and activating the jet with a single word. The whole jet let out a loud rumble and came to life.

Steve tilted the tumbler, feeling the liquid slosh around, and vaguely contemplated the likelihood of the Widow actually trying to poison him.

Then he heard another pair of footsteps approaching from the back and turned around to see none other than Agent Barton shuffling in, dressed in his usual SHIELD garb, bow and arrows clipped behind. He had a similar metal tumbler in hand – well, _two _tumblers actually, the other tucked under his arm.

Barton froze momentarily under Steve’s gaze.

“Uhhhhhh…” Barton trailed off. “Hi,” he finally said, giving a tiny wave with the tumbler. Steve blinked, eyes immediately flickering to Barton’s other hand, firmly pressing a giant ice pack to the side of his head. Steve blinked again, and Barton vaguely gestured towards it.

“Oh right. Yeah. _That,_” he mumbled. “You uh…got me good. I guess. Yes. In the uh…head. With your–”

“Sit your ass down and hand me the shake, Barton. You’re such an embarrassment,” Widow muttered from her seat, already strapped in.

“I’m just being friendly!” Barton defended, grumbling something under his breath but obediently settling down into the seat beside hers and passing the tumbler over. She uncapped it and gulped down a mouthful. Barton followed suit with his own shake. Steve uncapped his own tumbler, staring dubiously inside. Thick brown sludge. Didn’t smell of anything at all.

He thought about it for exactly two seconds, then shrugged. The serum would take care of any potential poisons anyway.

He took a large gulp down and huh–

_Chocolate-flavoured._

Then the engines started to rev up, and the Widow tilted her head slightly.

“You ready boys?”

She didn’t wait for a reply before they were off, shooting into the air.

\----------

It had been a week since what Steve dubbed as ‘The Incident’, and Schmidt was on a straight-up rampage.

“THAT BASTARD!” he was screaming from inside his office. “He knew this would happen!!”

Steve was outside in the field doing the morning work-out, doing push-ups and trying hard not to eavesdrop, but the serum – as he finally understood what had happened to him – made it near impossible.

“First the remaining specimens degraded away. And now you’re telling me you can’t reverse engineer it?!”

“Not immediately. But with time, yes,” Zola similarly shouted – Steve recognised his drawly tone.

“I was promised an army_._ He was supposed to _fix _me. And now all we have is one – _ONE _subject!”

“It is a very delicate piece of formula, sir. Completely fused into the subject’s DNA and it will take ti–”

“We do not have the luxury of time, Doctor,” Schmidt snapped, “We–”

A whistle was blown and Steve jerked up, quickly transitioning into jumping jacks. Everyone else beside him was drenched with sweat, panting, but Steve was completely dry, breathing in and out normally. He’d never felt like this before, so unbelievably _healthy. _Strong.

“–base in Azzano was taken down. Nothing but flames now. Countless resources, weapons, so much progress, _gone!_ No thanks to that idiotic American and his dumb group of monkeys!!”

American?

“We–”

Steve couldn’t make out the rest. The two returned to speaking at a normal volume and the words became mere buzzing, incomprehensible. Steve focused back on his jumping jacks again, silently counting under his breath.

It was not his business to care about Schmidt and Zola. No more questions. Hydra didn’t like curiosity.

But that curiosity came back once again that very same evening just before dinner, when Steve was dragged aside by a Hydra graduate soldier, masked and all, and escorted into the doors of Schmidt’s office.

Steve took a deep breath before knocking.

“Enter.”

Steve entered.

“Herr Schmidt,” he greeted automatically, keeping his eyes on the floor.

“Look up, boy,” Schmidt barked and Steve obeyed.

Standing in an office wider and taller than most rooms Steve had the luxury of being in, Schmidt still looked like the biggest thing in the office, just as tall and imposing as Steve expected, dressed in all black. The very embodiment of strength. Perfection. The leader of Hydra itself. The one destined to save the world.

“There is fire within your eyes.”

Steve kept quiet.

“Your life has taken quite a turn, has it not.”

“I…Yes sir.”

“Erskine may think himself clever,” Schmidt spat out. “Destroying the samples, choosing you of all people to test the formula on–”

Erskine chose _him?_

“–but he’s wrong. He thinks he’s won but he’s created the very weapon that will help win the war against the pathetic Americans. I’ve seen the results, you’re stronger, faster than any ordinary man. Not a weak, worthless boy you once were.” Schmidt shook his head. “A superior man. You might have some use to us after all.”

“I am ready to serve,” Steve said without skipping a beat.

“The Americans grow complacent,” Schmidt said. “Ever since Project Rebirth gave them the Soldier, they think themselves unstoppable, like a bunch of sewer rats who know no better.”

“They are deluded,” Steve agreed.

“But now we have _you._” Schmidt stepped forward, lifting Steve’s head with a single finger. Steve met his eyes. “The ultimate trump card against the Americans.”

“I will not disappoint you, sir.”

“See to it that you will not.”

\----------

Not even in the last seventy years had Steve seen anything remotely like this. People running wild, the city up in flames, and then actual fucking _aliens _zooming around, with some sort of alien whale flying above, roaring and screeching.

Steve quickly decapitated the first alien that jumped at him, while Widow and Barton used their guns and arrows, keeping the aliens at bay.

“There are civilians trapped down there,” Barton remarked, shooting off an arrow that burst into flames in the alien’s face, making it explode into a mess of black goo.

Steve deflected an alien blast and cast a glance to the side.

Two school buses at the crossroads overturned on their sides, doors and windows locked. Thirty – forty – or more children trapped in each, black smoke rapidly billowing out. Steve could already imagine the black turning into red, dripping, pouring out. It would be a flood. An ocean of crimson.

Steve went cold and kicked down an alien with a growl.

“Take the one on the left,” he ordered as he dashed out past his cover and into the open. Gunfire immediately came raining down. Steve held the shield up, deflected those as best he could and gritted his teeth through those that made it through, easily tearing through his uniform and splitting skin open. He vaulted past a car, sliding down to the front of the bus. 

The children’s cries grew frantic, pounding on the glass to get his attention. Steve leapt on top of the bus, gripping tightly onto the shield straps. 

“Stand back.”

The children did as they were told, and Steve smashed through the glass with the shield, tearing out the entire glass panel.

He reached in with his other hand to pull a kid out, then another. Another. Until there was a sizeable group there.

“Help each other,” Steve said before jumping to the back door of the bus, cleanly shattering the glass and pulling the kids out.

It took a while before the whole bus was evacuated and the children were escorted somewhere safe, but it was far from over.

Just another glance down the road and Steve could see groups of civilians running amok, absolutely terrified as Loki and his lackeys rained down bomb after bomb.

There were civilians trapped in buildings too, just seconds away from crumbling down. There was no way he could get them all out on his own. He needed more help. 

Steve quickly tapped his communicator, hearing it beep to life.

“Stark,” he called.

“Uh…Captain?”

“Get the authorities to evacuate the buildings at my location. And set up a perimeter to the 39th.”

“Wait. Hold up, I’m pretty occupied myself right now, why can’t–” There was a crackle of a blast echoing through the communicator. “Fucking son of a bitch!”

“Get it done.”

“Why can’t you do it?” Stark whined.

“They know you,” Steve said simply. “Hack their comms or yell at them, I don’t fucking care. Just get it done.”

Stark made a sound through the comms which Steve decided to interpret as a ‘yes’ and took off down the street where Barton and the Widow were currently getting swarmed.

He sent the shield flying, knocking down one alien and ricocheting to hit another. The Widow jumped at the chance and stabbed both easily.

“Nice save,” Barton commented as Steve dropped down. Steve didn’t reply, twisting over to behead another incoming alien. “You know, didn’t you and Nat work together once before? Odessa was it?”

“That was a long time ago. In–” Widow paused to shoot an alien in the head “–_a different _time.”

“When you were still with the–”

“Yes. Wasn't exactly _friends _with SHIELD then.”

“What, like you ki–”

“Yes.”

“...Oh.”

Steve ignored their banter, knocking an alien back with the shield, which the Widow promptly dispatched with a single bullet. 

Then a burst of lightning came crashing down, turning the surrounding aliens into ash as Thor dropped in, shiny hammer in hand.

“What’s the situation up there?” the Widow asked. 

“The energy surrounding the Tesseract is impenetrable.”

“We need to take down these guys first,” Stark piped up through the comms. “Figure out step two later.”

“And how the hell do you propose we do that?” Barton returned.

“Together,” Steve answered easily. Everyone immediately went quiet, turning to stare at him with that stupid expression he hated so much – and seriously _what?_ Steve wasn’t conceited enough to be unable to appreciate the merits of teamwork.

Thankfully, the rumbling of a bike engine drew everyone’s attention away, all turning around to stare at the latest newcomer, stepping off a dust-covered motorbike.

“Hi guys,” none other than Banner greeted. “Need a helping hand?”


	3. I: Why did you save me?

Steve’s first encounter with the infamous Soldier went something like this:

There was word that the Soldier and his team were on their way to tear down a Hydra weapons storage facility. Steve was sent there with a small squad in tow to lie in wait. An ambush.

True enough, he didn’t need to wait long. By nightfall, Steve’s ears picked up the faintest rustle in the distance. Footsteps.

He immediately signalled the squad to take up their positions up in the trees, guns locked and loaded. At the first sign of a boot stepping in Hydra territory, Steve gave the signal to open fire.

It became a complete bloodbath in mere seconds, American blood splattered over the ground, seeping deep into the soil. They didn’t even stand a chance.

“They know we’re he– ack!”

Steve leapt off his perch up to stab someone in the neck, warm blood gushing out as the soldier gasped and gurgled, toppling to the ground.

A few shots were fired in the dark, quiet. Sniper rifle. Three bodies dropped down from the trees behind him.

Shit. The Soldier.

Steve dove behind a crate just in time as another shot was fired.

He heard the faintest curse through the bushes, inaudible to most, and immediately pulled out his gun, aiming into the very same bush.

Steve pulled the trigger. A shot, another soft curse, but no sound of bullet hitting flesh.

Then a man came pouncing in from over the crate, knife armed in hand. Steve blocked it easily with a single strike, applying the slightest pressure to twist the man’s arm back, knife clattering uselessly to the floor.

The man’s eyes widened. Steve aimed a vicious kick to his abdomen, practically sending him flying off into the air, then crashing back into the ground.

“Shit, Barnes! He’s enhanced, like you,” the man groaned, rolling aside before Steve could stab him in the chest.

“_What,”_ the person in the bushes barked. So the Soldier’s name was Barnes.

Steve made another attempt to stab the squirming soldier, but a shot was fired, cleanly knocking the knife out of his hand. The man took the chance to headbutt Steve, getting up and scrambling back to the bushes to safety.

That was fine. His priority was getting the Soldier anyway. Steve raised his gun and shot into the bushes. Again no sound of hitting flesh. Another shot. Another miss.

More rustling, and a man finally appeared out from the shadows. Tall, large, like him, with a head of reddish-brown hair and bright blue eyes. The Soldier. Barnes.

“Where is he?” Barnes asked, voice shaky but clear, like a man struggling to keep his rage in check. Steve blinked. “What the fuck did you bastards do to Erskine?!”

Steve froze for a split second, which apparently was enough of an answer for Barnes. Barnes's eyes immediately lit up with pure fury, and he growled out loud, charging straight for Steve with his fist raised. 

Steve barely had time to react, the punch landing with a crack. It split his lip open. Another punch came, and Steve blocked this one, retaliating back with a punch of his own. Barnes ducked and shot back out with a kick. Steve jumped aside to dodge.

“He was _innocent!!_” Barnes roared with another lunge, whole body weight slamming into Steve and knocking him over. Barnes fought to pin him down, but Steve shot back out with a few sharp jabs, quickly turning the tables and pinning him down in return, hands scrambling to hold him in place.

“You monsters!!” Barnes yelled, struggling with everything he had, then _bit _down hard onto Steve’s arm. Steve hissed, fingers loosening just the slightest. Enough for Barnes to slip free and throw him off with a single punch, crashing into the wooden crates behind.

Then there was a clink, a small grey object falling to the ground. Grenade.

“BARNES, GET AWAY!”

Both Steve and Barnes immediately scrambled back, just two seconds early before–

The subsequent explosion lit the dark night sky in a mix of bright yellow and red, ground rumbling as a fresh cloud of dust and debris rained down.

“We need to retreat!” Steve heard through the chaos.

“They killed Erskine!” Barnes barked.

“We need to go _now.”_

Footsteps followed, rustling, slowly fading into the distance. No point trying to give chase now.

Steve got back on his feet and wiped the blood off his lip, already halfway healed. He quickly scanned his surroundings. Smoke and debris, ground littered with bullet casings, interposed by a collection of still bodies and pools of fresh red. Blood had been spilt on both sides tonight, more so the Americans, which Steve supposed could be considered a victory. A first mission well done.

He took the time to survey the battle remains, plundering any ammo he could find and trying not to jostle the bodies too much. There was just something so very unnerving about the dead, lifeless eyes staring out into the abyss.

Then, on an impulse, when the other Hydra soldiers were off packing and cleaning, he went around and closed the eyes of every dead body he could find – Hydra and American alike.

\----------

Banner – or more accurately, the Hulk – took down the giant alien whale with a single punch, before Iron Man blew it to bits with a well-aimed missile.

“So what’s next?” Barton asked, now surrounded by pieces of flaming alien guts.

Almost on cue, the giant portal lit up in blue, and multiple alien whales started swimming down, roaring out loud.

Even more aliens started dropping in, grappling hooks sinking deep into concrete to break their fall. They raised their guns up, whirring to life in a flare of blue.

“Right. Round two I guess,” Iron Man grumbled, repulsors glowing in a similar shade of blue. “Now if anyone has a great plan they would like to share with the class, I’m all ears.”

There was a short pause.

“You’re in charge of the perimeter,” Steve finally said.

“Uh…what?”

“You’re in charge of the perimeter,” Steve repeated.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. But wh–”

“Fly Barton to the rooftop,” he continued. “He’s the eyes of the operation.”

Barton was blinking at him with that ridiculous, _stupid _expression again, and Steve couldn’t see what expression Stark had on right now – all he could see was Iron Man’s unchanging robotic face – but Steve was ninety-nine percent sure that he too, mirrored the same face. Wide eyes, raised eyebrows, jaw slack. Steve still hated everything about it, hated everything about what it _meant_.

“…Right,” Stark said after a beat, trotting over to Barton who simply shrugged in response.

“Better clench up, Legolas.”

The two blasted off, and Steve turned to Thor.

“Slow them down. You have your lightning, use it.”

Thor nodded and leapt off into the air.

Next was Hulk, to which Steve simply tilted his head at.

The green monster understood anyway, grinning wildly and jumping off with a roar.

And finally, Steve twisted back to face the Widow.

She looked completely unfazed, face set in a neutral position, but her eyes were as sharp as a viper, boring holes into his soul – that hadn’t changed in the slightest – and Steve immediately decided that yes, he hated that expression even more, especially when worn by her.

“We’re on the ground,” was all Steve said, and the Widow shrugged, pulling out her handguns and taking aim at the nearest alien.

\----------

Fighting Barnes became a regular occurrence. Sometimes Barnes won, sometimes Steve did, but oddly enough, he was never angry at Barnes or his team for his losses. Frustrated yes, but never angry. They were just fighting for what they believed in after all – Steve was doing the same.

Barnes was a formidable foe, and each time Steve faced off with him, he was quickly reminded of what a good soldier he was – skilled, smart, resourceful. He would have been an amazing asset to Hydra if not for the obvious bit of him siding with the Americans.

And it wasn’t just that too. Barnes was also an excellent leader, and such a _damn good _sniper that it was almost infuriating. He handled his guns like a dream, once managing to take down nearly half a Hydra squad from the trees before Steve finally managed to force him down from his little sniper nest.

But in the end, no matter how much Steve secretly respected his skills and guts, Barnes was still the enemy, and Steve would do anything to take him down once and for all.

Barnes clearly shared the same sentiment as he did, and unfortunately, shared the same big stupid flaw as well – pure, sheer _stubbornness._

Thus the war between Hydra and the Americans raged on, persisting over many months with no signs of slowing down.

Neither side was willing to back down.

Hydra got new ground, the Americans lost some. The Americans took back their ground, Hydra lost theirs. On and on it went in a vicious cycle, with the soil now permanently soaked in red, and soon enough, it didn’t even matter to Steve whose red it was anymore. Americans or Hydra. Red was red.

Some days Steve would return back to the main base to receive his new orders, resupply or deliver a rousing speech to trainees.

Steve hated those times the most, because every night–

Screams coming from Zola’s lab. Not Steve’s, and a different one each time, keeping him wide awake through the night.

American prisoners. The other side effect of the war that Steve absolutely abhorred.

He could imagine all too easily what it was like–

Strapped down to a table, needles and ice. A different thing injected each time, the only consistent thing being the _pain._ Hot and mind-melting.

There was nothing Steve could do to shut those images out, no way to stop hearing the screams, and during those sleepless nights tossing and turning, he couldn’t help but wonder–

Did Erskine know this would happen all along?

And why–

_Why_ did he choose Steve?

Things slowly changed, after that.

A bullet to the knee became a bullet to the chest and a slice to the leg became a stab, straight deep into the artery. Steve took no hostages, no more prisoners.

He earned the name of Captain, got called a monster by the Americans. Vicious. A death bringer. The names got worse and worse.

Steve didn’t care. None of them had to live hearing the screams, dreams bleeding red, or open their eyes to imagine the needle and the ice and the _pain_. It was a fate worse than death, and if he could just save but one person from being seeing the damn needle, he would. He didn’t care what it would take. No one deserved to be put on the table.

Until one mission involving a trench and a gun supply came along.

They were fighting off against Barnes and his team once again, relatively evenly matched this time.

There was the usual scuffle, a few grenades exploding back and forth, then Steve had his gun raised up, a straight line to a man’s skull, right between the eyes.

It was the very same man that pounced on him during Steve’s first encounter with Barnes – called Dum Dum by the Americans. He was already covered in red from a stray bullet to the stomach, not lethal, but serious enough to keep him out of commission (but not off the table).

“NO!” Barnes practically screamed, diving right into the line of gunfire, and it was as if a mysterious force jammed Steve’s finger in place, unable to pull the trigger.

Barnes’s eyes jerked up to meet his, blue eyes wide with fear and panic. And Steve still couldn’t pull the trigger, utterly frozen in place.

Barnes blinked. Steve blinked. A shot was fired. 

Steve’s shoulder flared with pain, blood spurting as he snapped back to reality again, ducking aside and finally pulling the damn trigger.

It missed.

That was the moment that another grenade came into the picture, forcing Steve to jump back as it detonated.

When the dust cleared, Barnes was gone, and so was Dum Dum.

All that remained was a trail of blood in the soil, leading away into the dark.

\----------

The fight was long and brutal. No matter how many damn aliens Steve beheaded, more would pop up from behind, twice as angry.

Steve was starting to feel the strain, drenched in sweat and bruised all over, with his uniform torn in multiple places. The Widow too was looking no better, dirt matting her porcelain face and streaking through her usually perfectly-curled hair. The aliens just kept coming, a never-ending horde.

Then his communicator beeped once, and Barton’s voice came through.

“They’ve cornered a lot of civilians in the bank on 42nd, past Madison.”

The Widow exchanged a look with Steve.

“We’re on it,” she huffed into the comms.

Steve led the way, knocking aside an alien with the shield and charging down the street. The Widow followed suit, taking down an alien of her own with her nifty shock gauntlets.

After fighting through another army’s worth of aliens on the way there, the bank finally came into view.

It looked completely dark from the outside, but Steve could pick up multiple soft cries and breaths coming from within. A quick peek in confirmed what he thought – a whole crowd of civilians trapped, overlooked by a few aliens scattered on the second floor balcony, screeching and waving their energy guns.

“Get the civilians out,” Steve said. “I’ll handle the aliens.”

The Widow nodded and vanished through one of the windows, sliding through the small gap without making a single sound.

Steve jumped and vaulted his way up to the second floor. He waited for the slightest second, then hurled the shield at one of the windows, smashing straight through and promptly jumping in.

Immediately, every alien jerked to face him, guns locked and buzzing to life. Steve had a split second to pick the shield up before the heat rained down, powerful energy pulses battering against the shield.

The civilians started to scream, and Steve lunged to the side, punching down an alien and breaking the arm of another. He kicked the gun off the balcony. A stray shot hit his forearm. A sharp burst of pain, but Steve pushed on, forcibly tugging the alien down and holding him there as cover just as another shot was fired.

The smell of charred flesh filled the air and the alien gave a last gurgle before going still. Steve hurled the corpse at the closest alien, cleanly knocking him over the railings.

A quick glance over saw most of the civilians evacuated out. Just two more aliens to take care of. One of them roared at him, pulling out something from its belt and pressing a button. Steve definitely wasn’t familiar with alien tech at all, but even he knew those beeping noises and flickering blue lights meant nothing but trouble.

Steve quickly smashed the shield against the alien's skull and sliced its arm off, device clattering to the ground.

The beeping got more urgent, and the last alien gave a panicked screech, already starting to scramble away. Steve knocked it down with the shield and scooped the bomb up, flinging it into the roof as hard as he could and clenching his jaw down hard. No time to retrieve the shield. He did the only thing he could – raising his arms out to protect his head.

A final beep.

An explosion of white. Tossed up in the air, slamming into concrete – going _through _it, finally cracking his skull against hard tarmac ground.

The world went black.

\----------

The day Steve first learnt the name Bucky was during a snowstorm.

Visibility was poor and the winds were piercing cold, stabbing in like a multitude of tiny daggers. Steve was shaking uncontrollably despite the serum, his uniform feeling paper-thin, and walking through the snow – now nearly knee-deep – was starting to feel more like wading through a thick swamp, except that it was freezing his toes off.

It was probably the worst day they could have picked to start a fight, but wars waited for no one, and here they were in the aftermath of yet another fight.

It was the Americans’ victory today, and although Steve and whatever remained of the Hydra squad managed to retreat in time before they were wiped out, the snowstorm rolled in just minutes later, and Steve quickly lost his squad in the snow, skies reduced to a dark grey.

It was just him now, alone, shuffling through the snow aimlessly.

Then Steve looked up and caught sight of a dark mass somewhere in the distance. A house perhaps?

Steve picked up pace, and after a few minutes, he finally closed in on an inn. Abandoned probably, but surprisingly still in one piece, not bombed to smithereens.

He pried the door open and shuffled in, immediately heaving a sigh of relief at the sheer absence of snow and howling winds. Still freezing cold, but at least he was sheltered from the worst of it. Nothing to do except wait for the storm to clear.

Steve went searching for kindling to start a fire with, snapping a few old wooden stools into tiny pieces and throwing them into the fireplace. It took a few tries, but he eventually got a good fire going, sitting down in front of it and curling in on himself, closing his eyes.

Sleep wouldn’t come, it was slightly too cold for that, but his thoughts started to wander nonetheless, deep into the tresses of his mind. For once, they didn’t linger on the war, or Hydra, or even the Americans. Who won, who lost, he didn’t care at this point. His thoughts drifted away from all of it.

Blonde hair, a soft lullaby. A life long gone. Steve couldn’t remember the lyrics anymore, let alone picture a face. It was just a blurry mess at this point, like staring out into the snowstorm, but it was still the warmest thing Steve had within him. The only thing he managed to lock away from Hydra. Kept pure, untainted.

Then a loud snap jerked him out from his thoughts.

Steve scrambled back up, heart racing anew.

A figure came shuffling in, footsteps loud and creaky.

“Uhm…hello?”

Steve immediately ducked behind a wooden table, going stiff. Even without the usual hatred and fury contained in it, he would recognise the voice anywhere.

“Uhm…I don’t mean to intrude. Just seeking shelter from the storm,” none other than Barnes continued to say, taking a cautious step in.

Steve didn’t move, slipping out a knife from his boot.

“I promise I don’t mean any harm.”

Another step.

And Steve pounced out from his hiding spot, knife in hand, easily knocking Barnes over and pinning him down, pressing the edge of the blade to his throat. Barnes’s shield clattered to the ground – Steve couldn’t remember the first time he brought that shiny frisbee into battle, just that it was ridiculous and it was a god damn _shield. _What sort of soldier brought a _shield _into war?

Barnes’s eyes widened, but he didn’t struggle, keeping very still. Smart. Steve kicked the shield away out of reach.

“What do you want,” Steve snarled.

“I…” Barnes swallowed. “The tracks. I swear I didn’t know I was following you.”

A coincidence then. Steve didn’t remove his blade.

“Look, I know–”

Steve pressed the knife in, but not deep enough to cut. Barnes went quiet.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Barnes said after a pause.

“Where’s the rest of your team?”

“Lost them in the storm. I’m guessing you did too.”

Steve didn’t say anything to confirm or deny it.

“Look,” Barnes tried again. “We may be enemies, but we both want the same thing. Get through this storm and find the rest of our team. It doesn’t have to be mutually exclusive goals.”

“I could kill you, then it won’t matter anymore.”

“You could,” Barnes admitted. “But you know there’s no honour in that.”

“I don’t care about honour.”

Barnes looked him straight in the eye.

“If you truly didn’t, you would have made that shot back then.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. He remembered that moment clearly. Barnes jumping to save his friend regardless of the consequences, and Steve’s fingers jammed on the trigger, frozen.

“I propose a truce until the storm ends,” Barnes said. “Then both of us can go on our way again.”

Everything in Steve knew he should just slit his throat, end it right there. Take down Hydra’s greatest enemy once and for all.

But Steve’s thoughts suddenly flickered back to that nameless lullaby, to Erskine, to the anger in Barnes’s voice when he learnt of the doctor’s death and to the pack of biscuits Erskine left once for Steve, even though Steve was Hydra and was by all definitions, an enemy.

Despite everything, Erskine _chose_ Steve – he still didn’t understand why – but he also chose Barnes as well, through Project Rebirth, and if Steve didn’t spare Barnes’s life for simply honour’s sake, he at least owed Erskine this one small thing to make up for everything else.

Steve removed the knife and got off Barnes, sinking into his corner beside the fireplace, but tilting back and keeping Barnes clearly in sight.

“Thank you.”

Barnes rubbed at his neck and got up. Steve noticed him glancing towards his shield – still abandoned at the side – but he gave a small shrug, leaving it there and inching towards the fireplace. Barnes took the corner opposite Steve, similarly keeping both eyes on Steve, except they weren’t hostile in the slightest. More…curious.

There was a few minutes of silence while the storm continued to rage on outside.

Steve threw more kindling into the fire, prodding it in with a stick.

“You want some biscuits?” Barnes suddenly asked, pulling out a small packet from his pockets, offering it out.

Steve stared at it suspiciously, not making a move to take it.

“You know, you’re different than what I expected.”

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“It’s just–” Barnes paused and sighed. “You’re not like the rest of them,” he finished lamely, putting the biscuits back.

What was that even supposed to mean?

“I’ve seen enough of your kind. Loyal even to death, always looking to draw blood, to kill,” Barnes spat out, then mellowed his voice back to normal. “But you’re just…different.”

Steve didn’t say anything, still prodding the fire.

“There was that Hydra blockade,” Barnes continued. “Pinned our allies down for months. But when we stormed it, you barely put up a fight. We all thought it was too easy, taking it over.”

Steve swallowed.

“That wasn’t the only one either. Weapon camps you always defend to your best ability, but prison camps…you just seem to give up the fight so easily. It’s almost as if you’re letting us–”

“I don’t let you do anything,” Steve snarled, and Barnes blinked at him, eyes too shrewd for Steve’s liking.

“…You know, some of those men we rescued were in really bad shape. Few more days and they wouldn’t have made it,” Barnes said quietly. “Some had families. Children too. Which is, well – I guess – it’s weird that I’m saying this but…_thanks._” 

Steve stubbornly kept his gaze fixed on the fire, resolutely not saying a word.

“Do you have any family?” Barnes asked after a pause, unsurprised when Steve didn’t respond. “I do. Mother and three sisters back home.”

“I don’t care,” Steve said. 

Barnes surprisingly snorted.

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t.”

They fell into silence again.

Barnes managed to survive approximately five minutes of silence before he opened his mouth again.

“So…why do you fight for Hydra?”

“Freedom. Order. Stability,” Steve recited dutifully. He didn’t mention that those words were starting to feel empty to him – Barnes of all people didn’t need to know that.

“You really believe that.”

“Hydra will save the world.”

“Destroy it, more like,” Barnes muttered.

“Well, you asked,” Steve said, unrepentant.

“Yeah,” Barnes sighed. “I guess I did.”

Another few minutes. Then,

“…Did he suffer?”

“What?”

“Erskine,” Barnes clarified. “When he…” And he trailed off.

“…No." Steve shook his head. “It was quick.”

“That’s – well, okay…I guess,” Barnes said softly.

And against better judgement, Steve added, “He was a good person. I’m sorry.”

Barnes jerked up, eyes hot with fury.

“But you killed him anyway,” he snarled.

“I didn’t kill him.”

“What?”

“I didn’t kill him,” Steve repeated quietly, and Barnes’s shoulders sank back down.

“Oh,” he muttered softly. “Right. Okay. Who–”

“Schmidt,” Steve said.

Why was he even telling Barnes this? Why was he even talking to Barnes at all? He should just kill him and be done with it.

So why?

Steve returned to staring at the fire, decidedly not looking up at Barnes.

Many hours passed like that with the storm still raging outside; Barnes asking questions, mostly nothing related to the war, but about innocent things like sports and food, while Steve gave the occasional answer, mostly one-word responses. Barnes never seemed to mind.

Then when the storm finally abated nearly an eternity later, skies returning back to a calm grey, Barnes picked up his shield from the floor and headed towards the door.

Before opening it, he turned back to face Steve.

“You know…” he started, eyes bright, a shade of soft, pale blue_. _Devoid of hate. “You don’t have to do this.”

Steve’s subsequent silence was enough of an answer.

“…Okay,” Barnes said quietly. “Just thought I’d offer. Anyway. It’s uhm…nice to meet you, I guess, when we’re not trying to kill each other.” He reached out for a handshake to which Steve just stared at. “I’m James, but everyone calls me Bucky.”

“Steve,” he found himself saying eventually, still not reaching out to shake Bucky’s hand.

Bucky didn’t look surprised in the slightest, but he broke into a small smile, with the corners of his eyes wrinkling and his lips curling up.

And Steve just–

\----------

“Captain, wake up,” somebody was saying. “_Rogers._”

Steve’s eyes snapped open, blinking once. Red in his face. Not blood, _hair. _He blinked again.

“Oh good,” the Widow said. “You’re not concussed, are you?” She waved a hand in front of Steve’s face, which he immediately caught and shoved aside.

“Not concussed,” she concluded with a shrug, stepping aside to give space for Steve to get up.

The battle was still raging around them, portal wide open and aliens zipping past. He probably wasn’t out for long then. 

“We got everyone out in time. They’re safe,” she said, answering precisely Steve’s next question.

Which left the last thing–

Steve immediately scanned the ground, shoulders relaxing when he spotted the shield lying on the ground, covered with dust but otherwise still whole.

He trotted over to pick it up, wiping the dust off and threading his arm through the straps, feeling the familiar weight sink in.

“Any developments?”

“No,” the Widow said. “We can fight all we want, but it won’t mean a damn thing unless we find a way to shut the portal upstairs.”

Steve glanced up at said portal, aliens still streaming out from it.

“Thor said it can’t be destroyed,” the Widow continued. “But maybe it’s not the size of the gun that matters.”

Steve turned his glance towards Stark Tower, still shooting out that mystical beam into the sky. There was no way she was going to get up there without a ride. He raised a single eyebrow at the Widow, who tilted her head to the horde of aliens zipping past on their flying bikes. Oh.

“It’ll be just like Odessa. That was fun.” The Widow shrugged, already backpedalling away.

Steve gave her a look.

“Odessa was _not fun,_” he said stonily, but begrudgingly bent down, shield up against his shoulder.

The Widow flashed a single smirk, then broke into a sprint, jumping up onto the shield.

Steve tossed her up in the air, and off she went.

Barely five seconds later, the comms crackled to life.

“Nat?! What the fuck are you doing?!”

\----------

Things changed after that encounter with Bucky. They still fought their battles, took whatever victories and accepted whatever losses they had, but things were just…different. There was respect between them – there always was, even before that encounter – but there was something _more _now, something else. Steve couldn’t really explain it in words.

Then he got his next mission: protect Zola whilst on board a train.

Steve couldn’t say he was all that surprised when Bucky came crashing in halfway through the trip, holding up that ridiculous metal shield – not metal exactly, something stronger than that, but it was still a _shield _nonetheless.

“Steve,” he said as a greeting, shield raised up.

“Bucky,” Steve returned, gun raised up.

“Are you really going to defend him? He’s _scum. _Do you have any idea how many people he’s hurt?” Bucky asked, voice sharp.

“I don’t have any love for Zola,” Steve snapped, immediately thinking of the needle. “I have my orders.”

Bucky’s gaze softened slightly at that, and he lowered his shield just a bit.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at him, pulling the trigger on the gun. A loud crack in the air, and the bullet deflected off the shield harmlessly. 

“Steve, _please_–”

He shot again, bullet deflecting off the shield once more.

“If you really wanted to hurt me, you would have gone for my legs,” Bucky stated bluntly, and so Steve turned his gun to his legs, firing a third time. Bucky dodged it easily with a roll to the side. Another shot, this one grazing the edge of Bucky’s calf. Red oozed out.

“Fine,” Bucky said. “If it’s a fight you want, then so be it.”

Steve’s gun was knocked out with a fling of the shield, and off they went, punches and kicks thrown wildly in the air.

“Come on–” Bucky swerved to dodge a jab from Steve. “I know you don’t want to do this.”

“You don’t know _anything _about what I want,” Steve said, lunging out with an uppercut. It didn’t hit.

“Steve–”

A punch finally landed, knocking Bucky backwards. Steve moved in to pin him down, but Bucky was faster, kicking him off.

Bucky rolled over and retrieved his shield again, pulling it back for a throw. Steve toppled a shelf in its way, watching it clatter to the ground uselessly.

Then they were back at it once more, punching and kicking, brawling in a way no other humans could except them – enhanced reflexes and near superhuman strength.

And finally Steve tripped him up with a leg sweep, bending over for a split second to pick up his fallen gun and raising it to Bucky’s head.

There was a pause.

“Go on,” Bucky panted, going still. Eyes so blue and bright. No hate in them whatsoever. Why?

“I’ll kill you,” Steve said, but it was hollow, even to him. He didn’t pull the trigger.

“You don’t have to do this, Steve,” Bucky said between breaths. “We can help you.”

And still Steve didn’t pull the trigger.

Then the door of the train carriage burst open, the rest of Bucky’s team piling through. Dum Dum was at the front, hands clutching onto a Hydra energy gun.

“Bucky, get out of the way!”

It started whirring up.

“WAIT NO–”

Too late.

The blast hit Steve square in the chest, tearing a giant hole through the train hull and flinging him out into the open cold.

Snow mercilessly pounding against him, winds piercing through skin, nothing but an endless white below. Steve fumbled to grab something, _anything_ – and his fingers curled around a thin metal pole at the side of the train, groaning loudly as his weight sank down.

Something tight and awful immediately sunk in, clawing at him and lodging straight in his throat. Steve let out the softest whimper, unable to get a firm footing on anything, just dangling out by his arm like a piece of meat on a butcher’s hook. Was this it? Was this finally the end?

“Hang on!”

Steve’s eyes snapped up to see Bucky shimmying out, hands firmly clinging onto the sides. What the hell was he doing?

The metal pole creaked dangerously and Steve’s eyes wandered down again, into the white abyss below.

“STEVE!”

Maybe this was for the best, Steve suddenly thought. After everything, maybe this was what he deserved after all.

“Don’t let go!”

The metal screeched once more, shaking precariously. Steve shut his eyes and held his breath, heart roaring in his ears.

He let go.

–and was immediately caught, a warm hand tight as a vice encircling his wrist.

“STEVE!”

Steve’s eyes snapped open, jerking up. What the–

Bucky screamed as he pulled, metal pipe groaning as he did so.

“Bucky!” Dum Dum cried out from above, reaching out and firmly grasping onto Bucky's uniform straps. “What the fuck are you doing?! Let him go!”

“No!” Bucky hissed, fingers tightly curled around Steve's wrist.

“Bu–”

“_No!_”

Dum Dum let out a string of curse words, and then pulled hard, trying to drag Bucky up to safety.

The whole team scrambled to help, pulling hard, inch by inch, until finally, they were dragged on board the train, back on flat ground.

Both of them immediately sank to the ground, heaving.

“Why–” Steve croaked out. “Why did you save me?”

Bucky turned his head slightly to the side, solidly meeting Steve’s gaze.

“Couldn’t…let you _die_.”

\----------

Thor was a formidable, well…_god._

Letting loose lightning that melted the aliens into ash, and knocking them back like plastic dominoes with his hammer.

But even brute strength and magic couldn’t keep the aliens at bay, and Steve and Thor continued to take them down one after another, both entirely covered with dust and blood.

Steve tackled a shrieking alien down, throwing the shield out to hit another. Then came a flash of blue, and an energy blast struck him right in the abdomen. Steve was easily flipped over, crashing face-first into the ground.

Pain erupted, fiery hot. Steve’s vision swam and he bit down hard, breathing heavily as he forced himself back up into a crouch.

Then there was an alien screech just above him, a shadow looming. Steve raised an arm to shield himself and–

A loud ‘ping’. The alien was knocked to the ground and a metal hammer landed just beside it, handle up. The alien started scrambling back up, screeching again.

Steve didn’t hesitate. He lunged out with a growl, pulling the hammer up from the ground and smashing it against the alien’s head.

There was a loud crack of the skull and the alien crumpled to the floor. Steve panted and turned around, idly tossing the hammer back to its owner. 

Thor caught the hammer easily with a single hand, blinking at Steve with the strangest expression on his face. Steve had no idea what to make of it.

“…What?”

Thor opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the comms erupted to life.

“–does anybody copy? I can shut the portal down,” the Widow said. “I can–”

“No wait!” Stark yelled, rocket blasts roaring in the background. “I’ve got a nuke coming in and–”

“What the fuck, are you seri–” Barton cursed.

“–it’s gonna blow in less than a minute. But I know just where to put it.”

\----------

Bucky escaped the train with Zola in tow.

Schmidt had been furious about losing Zola, yelling and throwing things at Steve for nearly a whole afternoon, but he’d calmed down almost immediately right after, muttering to himself something about ‘fast-forwarding the plan’ and then disappearing into his office, not emerging even once since then.

Not until days later, when Steve was finally ordered to report to Schmidt’s office to get his new orders.

Steve went, but Hydra’s esteemed leader was nowhere to be seen, and he stood in front of the desk, waiting.

The office was still as large as it had always been, the usually neat desk now covered with stacks and stacks of folders, all meticulously colour-coded.

Steve continued to wait, watching the clock nailed to the side wall tick, second by second, minute by minute.

Still no sign of Schmidt.

Then he stared at the stack of folders again, chewing the inside of his lip thoughtfully. 

Another minute passed, then finally, curiosity got the better of him.

Steve glanced around for a moment, ears craning to listen for the slightest sound of footsteps outside. There was none, and he trotted over to the table, delicately leafing through the stacks of papers there.

The first file held profiles of Bucky and his team, and intel on other key figures like Howard Stark, Margaret Carter, Chester Phillips and so on. Nothing out of the ordinary. Steve moved on to the next stack – the thickest one.

Immediately, the words ‘bomb’ and ‘plane’ stood out, and Steve froze. He read the page again. Then once more. The words didn’t change.

A hard lump formed at Steve’s throat, and he flicked through the entire file, speed-reading it all. After about the twelfth time the word ‘bomb’ popped up, Steve slammed the file closed, throwing it back to the desk like it was made of straight-up poison.

Oh god.

_God._

Schmidt was planning to bomb the United States of America. Innocent men and women, god – even _children. _How many people–

Steve sucked in a breath, coming out as a strangled wheeze.

This was Schmidt’s ultimate plan? Hydra’s end goal? To murder millions of innocent people? Wha–

There was a loud rattling sound pounding against the door.

Steve jerked back, barely remembering himself at the very last second, forcing his shoulders down and his fists to unclench.

“Sir– Oh, Captain,” the Hydra grunt greeted. Steve had no idea when even Hydra soldiers started referring to him by the title (and honestly, Steve had no clue how or why that name even came about).

“Yes?”

“The base is under attack, sir. It’s the Soldier.”

Steve didn’t waste another second, barking quick orders and dashing out of the office.

But as it turned out, Steve barely needed to do anything.

The man was already completely surrounded, guns pointing down at him from every angle. Storming Hydra’s main base alone and armed with nothing but his shield and a few trusty guns. Was he an idiot?

No, Steve narrowed his eyes. He wouldn’t do that. Bucky was reckless but not _that _reckless. He had something else planned.

Then Bucky caught sight of Steve through the crowd, ice blue eyes piercing through his.

Steve stepped forward, and Bucky didn’t move, let alone blink. Just kept staring at Steve, face carefully blank.

If Bucky was here, then Zola must have revealed the location of their main base to them, and if so, chances were that he probably told them about Schmidt’s plan as well.

The bombs–

There was a pause, and Steve finally said, “You may be stronger than any ordinary man, but even you can’t take down a whole army by yourself.”

Bucky didn’t say a word, shrugging once.

Steve pulled out a pair of reinforced handcuffs from his belt, prying them open and walking up to Bucky. The man didn’t even bother resisting, dropping his weapons easily and allowing Steve to pull his arms back.

“You don’t have to do this,” Bucky murmured softly as Steve manoeuvred his wrists into the cuffs, inaudible to the other Hydra soldiers.

“I know,” Steve said, locking the cuffs in place.

“Steve, _please._”

“Keep quiet,” Steve hissed, tightening the cuffs as tight as they would go. Bucky winced at that, and Steve took the chance to slide the key in between Bucky’s fingers, disappearing in a flash between the folds of his hands.

Bucky went completely still and Steve let go, bending over to pick up the iconic metal shield and his guns.

“You won’t be needing these anymore,” Steve said firmly.

Bucky’s eyes jerked up to meet his, a shade of pale icy blue. Steve saw the very moment it dawned on him, eyes going wide.

Steve gave a slow blink.

Bucky did the same.

And Steve knew then, that he’d made the right decision.

\----------

It was a heart-stopping moment as Iron Man zipped across the sky, shooting up Stark Tower with the damn nuke on his back.

Up and up he went, disappearing up through the portal.

There were a few seconds of agonising silence, then–

Every alien in the vicinity cried out and dropped to the ground, going motionless.

Still a few more seconds, and absolutely no sign of the tiniest speck of red and gold coming back down through the portal.

\----------

Schmidt had his gun trained on Bucky, already whirring to life with his finger ready on the trigger.

“–but unfortunately, I am on a tight schedule.”

And Steve finally had enough.

No more lies._ No more._

He lashed out with a growl, raising Bucky’s shield up against his _esteemed leader, _more than easily deflecting the shot to the side.

“What!” Schmidt barked just as Bucky ripped the cuffs off, fists up and ready. His eyes almost glowed red. “YOU _TRAITOR!!” _

\----------

“Come on Stark,” Steve heard Widow mutter, voice containing more emotion than he ever thought was possible.

Another second.

Still nothing coming through the portal.

Steve finally tore his eyes away, mind already drawing up images from _that day, _preserved in full colour and sound and _god – _curse his eidetic memory.

He barely heard himself saying, “Close it.”

\----------

Schmidt was hardly a threat against both Steve and Bucky working together to take him down, and now on board the Valkyrie, Hydra leader disintegrated to dust, the two had to find a way to stop the plane, stop the bombs.

“The controls are busted,” Bucky said, panic starting to seep into his voice.

Steve pushed him aside and fiddled with the controls, but to no avail. The plane was stuck in place, coordinates locked in.

“No.” Steve smashed a fist against the panel. “_No,” _he said again, barely a whisper.

“The bombs…” Bucky murmured, strangely nonchalant. “There’s not going to be a safe landing.”

Steve glanced up.

“What? You have a plan?”

“I…” Bucky trailed off, then took a few steps across the deck, pausing just in front of his metal shield, still lying on the ground after their fight. 

“Bucky? Do you have a plan?” Steve asked again, stepping up to him.

“I…yeah. Yeah.” Bucky looked up, amber from the sun mixing with the blue in his eyes, turning them almost green. So oddly calm. Something twisted at the base of Steve’s stomach.

“Take this,” Bucky said, pushing the shield over to Steve.

“Wha – Why…”

Bucky slammed his fist on a button, and the doors behind Steve suddenly slid open, cold air rushing in.

“The shield’s made of vibranium. Absorbs all impact,” Bucky said softly.

Steve’s eyes widened.

“Bucky–”

“Live a good life Steve. Be happy.” Bucky flashed him a soft smile, eyes growing wet.

“No, WAIT–”

A single kick violently shoved Steve out of the plane and into the air.

_“BUCKY!”_

Then he was falling.

And there was–

There _wasn’t_–

Bucky was–

No.

_No._


	4. I: How many years had it been?

Iron Man survived, all red and gold falling back through the portal and still very much _alive._

And now taking an elevator back up Stark Tower to finally arrest Loki, Steve found himself silently wondering once again if Stark could ever just–

_Shut the fuck up._

“So shawarma after?” the man was babbling, still as energetic and chatty as always. God, how did he ever not run out of things to talk about? “I have no idea what shawarma is but it sounds good. Everyone’s down, right? My dime, obviously – even though sour patch grandpa over here just earned _fifteen million dollars._ Hey, you should be treating us instead.”

Steve didn’t respond, but saw Barton at the corner of his eyes mouthing to the Widow, “Fifteen million dollars?!”

“Speaking of which – fifteen million dollars – SHIELD really spared no expense hiring you, did they? Wow. And oh – here’s an idea. What if I paid you _sixteen _million to…say, parade down Times Square dressed up as a…duck. Would you do it?”

Steve didn’t bother giving him an answer.

“...How about seventeen million? Twenty? Twenty-four? Thirty? Work with me here buddy, what do you want? Name a price. How about thirty-fi–”

“I am not parading down Times Square dressed up as a duck,” Steve finally snapped. 

“Right. Gotcha.” Stark nodded, then paused. “How about a _dog _then? Everyone likes dogs.”

Steve gave him a look, and Stark grinned.

Then the elevator thankfully, _finally_ arrived at the top floor and Stark shut his damn mouth. Everyone shuffled out.

Thor and Hulk were already there – Thor with his hammer and Hulk with his fists, snarling down at Loki.

The snake god caught sight of Steve all bruised and battered, and his lips loosely curled into a thin smile.

“So…Captain, can’t say I’m all that shocked here. Did you–”

Steve stormed up and smashed the shield against his face, cleanly breaking his nose with a sharp crack.

“–_FUCK!”_

Blood splattered to the ground.

Everyone turned to gawk at him.

“…What,” Steve muttered. “He’s annoying.”

There was a silence, then Stark snorted.

“Well…can’t argue with that one.”

They wrapped things up quickly after that, securing the sceptre and the Tesseract, and once Loki was in cuffs and properly gagged for good measure, Steve started moving towards the exit. His job was done, it was time for him to go. The rest could handle it from here.

“Hey wait!” Stark suddenly called. “Party’s not over yet. Shawarma, remember?”

Something in his tone made Steve turn back, and he regretted the move instantly. The rest of the Avengers were all staring back at him, face neutral but eyes expectant – Steve immediately decided right then that this was the one expression he definitely hated _the most._

Steve’s fingers tightened over the shield straps – a shield that didn’t and would never belong to him. He was but an imposter.

“No,” Steve said, not missing the way Stark’s grin faltered slightly before recovering.

“But I’m paying!” He gestured vaguely. “Unlimited budget!”

“No,” Steve repeated and turned away, resolutely not looking back as he entered the elevator, doors shutting for good.

This was just a job, he told himself as the elevator descended. A job that he got paid to do, nothing else.

\----------

Steve was alive, and Bucky was–

Bucky was–

Steve choked on a cry as a surge of emotion engulfed him whole, fingers tightly clutching onto Bucky’s shield and his bloodstained dog tags tangled in the strap – when did he even have the time to tie those there on the Valkyrie?

Steve’s eyes started to sting and a loud sob broke through.

Why? Why did Bucky save him? Why was it him? Why did Bucky have to die and Steve _live?_

It should have been the other way.

It should have been him.

God knows how much blood he had spilt working for Hydra and drinking their lies, believing the whole charade. How had he been so stupid?

He turned the shield over and gently untangled the dogtags from the strap, vision going blurry again.

_James Buchanan Barnes._

Bucky.

He had a mother and three sisters, a _family._ He had people who loved and cared for him, who would miss him, grieve for him, all while Steve was–

His fingers tightened around the thin metal chain, trembling.

God, no. It should have been him. He should have been the one to make the sacrifice. Why–

Steve brought the dog tags to his chest, still shaking, and yet another sob came out.

Bucky wouldn’t even have a proper funeral. With no body to bury, there would be nothing. Just his shield, and his dog tags that Steve immediately vowed to return to his family. They deserved that at least.

Then Bucky’s last words–

_Live a good life Steve. Be happy._

His vision grew blurry, and with a final sob, tears started streaming down his face.

First Erskine, and now _Bucky._

_Why?_

Why did they have to die and he got to live?

What the hell did they ever see in him that made him worth saving..?

\----------

It was a few months after the alien invasion, and the Avengers officially moved into the newly minted Avengers Tower, regularly making the headlines with their latest superhero escapades. Stopping invasions, terrorists, saving a whole bunch of people, even charity work.

Meanwhile, Steve was wandering throughout New York aimlessly, scrolling through his phone to look at his latest list of job offers.

A heist, skip. Another heist, skip. An assassination, he immediately pressed delete. Yet another heist, skip. Then–

Steve scowled at the latest text that pinged in his inbox, _Frisbee Grandpa _written at the top. Not again.

_How about forty-nine million? _The text said. Steve’s finger went straight to delete.

Almost immediately, it pinged again with a new message.

_Fifty? And just to reiterate: Free meals, a whole floor of the tower to yourself, unlimited access to all the fun toys, awesome missio_–

Steve used both hands to snap the phone in half, tossing it away in the nearest trash bin.

This was the seventh phone already. Just when would Stark quit it?

He dug through his pockets and pulled out his eighth and last burner phone, slipping a card in and switching it on.

Steve got through approximately ten minutes of more unsuccessful job-hunting before a new text came through. He scowled again.

_Fifty-one? And speaking of which, there were a bunch of anonymous donations to eighteen different charities totalling up to a nice round fifteen million. That couldn’t have been you, could it?_

Steve broke the phone and threw it away into the bin, sighing out loud.

Now he had to go and buy more burner phones.

\----------

Bucky told him to live a good life and be happy.

Steve didn’t know what any of that meant (he doubted he ever would), but what he did know was this:

He would gladly spend the rest of his life finishing the job Bucky started. Stop Hydra once and for all and eradicate it for good. It was the least Bucky deserved.

So Steve’s first order of business was to sneak into the Americans’ base, going straight down into the prison cells and shooting Zola in the face – for Erskine, for Bucky, for the hundreds of soldiers he tortured and murdered.

He kept the shield – he didn’t trust anyone with it, and he left Bucky’s dog tags on the table, where he knew they would be found and returned to his family.

Then Steve took off, going straight for the multiple Hydra bases still left standing and untouched, setting fire to everything.

He spared those he could, only because he knew Bucky would too, and found new homes for all the young children indoctrinated into Hydra academy. Kids like him, orphaned young and furious at the world. Steve hoped they would find a better life, not like him, god, not at all.

He worked tirelessly for years and more years still, until years bled into decades and fighting just slowly morphed into a blurry mess of red.

Then one morning Steve was shaving in front of the mirror as usual, staring deep into his reflection.

And–

Not a wrinkle in sight. No white in his hair. Skin as elastic and soft as it had always been.

He froze. He’d never noticed but–

How many years had it been?

Nothing about him had changed ever since–

Steve stared down at his hands which began to shake. He looked back up at his reflection, still as youthful as always, and back at his hands.

_Oh god. No._

\----------

Steve was back in DC and up to his twenty-eighth burner phone when he woke up to three new messages with _Frisbee Grandpa _at the top.

_Sixty-three? Oh, and about yesterday’s failed robot invasion or whatever?_

_You know, the one with technology vastly inferior to mine?_

_Some witnesses reported getting rescued from the rubble by a dorito-shaped man with blond hair. How curio_–

Steve threw the phone against the wall hard enough to smash it into pieces.

Why wouldn’t Stark just give it up already?

A quick glance to the clock on the wall showed exactly five-thirty in the morning. Steve got up from bed, fingers rubbing against his ribs, still sore from yesterday but functional.

He didn’t bother pulling out a new burner phone from his stash to throw into his bag, getting dressed and chomping down nearly a whole loaf of sourdough bread before heading out.

As expected, the sky was still dark, streets completely empty, but Steve trudged on anyway, tightening his bag straps and tucking both hands into his pockets.

Sheer force of habit took him back down to the entrance of the Smithsonian museum – closed, of course – with a large banner of Bucky at the front, fluttering gently in the breeze.

Not for the first time, Steve found himself standing there for a few long minutes just staring, and almost unconsciously, his bag (with Bucky’s shield in it) seemed to sink down, growing heavier by the second.

Steve looked away and moved on, hands still in his pockets.

He took a short jog down to the park nearby, did a lap around it, then repeated the whole circuit again, and again, until the sun was up with people starting to fill the streets, and Steve still had yet to break out into a sweat.

Eventually, it got crowded enough that Steve stopped, settling down on a bench instead, staring out into the horizon. Still at least an hour before the Smithsonian opened.

Steve’s fingers itched for a phone to resume his usual scroll through his latest job offers – even though he admittedly hadn’t accepted any since the invasion, and he didn’t care enough to properly examine why exactly that was so.

He watched a squirrel make its way across the trees above, nose twitching, a bird chirping on its perch, down to a tiny chihuahua barking up at said bird while its owner tugged it away. A wholly uneventful day like any other. Quiet and peaceful, the most boring kind of day but the best there is.

Then a red frisbee suddenly landed at his feet, knocking into his ankle and flipping over. Steve picked it up, eyes trailing up to a small child staring at him across the path, wide-eyed. With a flick, he gently tossed it back, the kid catching the frisbee with a shy ‘thanks’. 

Then–

A loud ‘BOOM’, and the earth let out a deep rumble.

People started crying out in the distance, screaming and darting away, and the young kid was yanked away by a panicked mother, red frisbee dropping to the ground.

Another rumble, and bright orange burst into the air, flames shooting up into the sky with black clouds of smoke quickly erupting out.

More screams and shouts, people running away.

Steve stared back down at the frisbee for a second, back at the flames in the distance, then finally, back to the side where his bag was still sitting, shield safely tucked inside.

He took but a second to pull the damn thing out, zips snapping apart as he did so.

\----------

It was clear, whatever the serum did made Steve stronger, faster, but also practically immortal, incapable of ageing.

And once Steve realised this fact, it was near impossible to get it out of his head. Mirrors were hard to look at. He couldn’t even shave himself without wanting to smash everything into pieces out of sheer frustration.

How was he supposed to live if he couldn’t even age and die like a normal person? What was the meaning in all this? He couldn’t even be _hurt _like a normal person and die.

And god did Steve try.

He knew he could never kill himself – Bucky’s last words were for him to live and Steve couldn’t betray that. Never.

So he did the next best alternative, throwing himself into dangerous missions over and over in hopes that one day a shot would come at just the right angle, and that would be _it._

He did things he wasn’t proud of, provoked criminal organisations, started wars with governments, got on the blacklist of the CIA, FBI, SHIELD, anything, everyone, but that one shot never came, and his heart continued beating still.

And Steve was–

_Tired._

He was tired of waking up every single day with a body that refused to give up on him, tired of fighting, of hurting, of running, of never seeing the end.

Was this his punishment? To live where everyone else died? To suffer an eternity?

And so months passed, years passed, decades passed.

Steve’s heart continued to beat, as strong and as fast as it had always been.

He saw generations crumble and others rise. He saw history rewrite itself, saw people make the same mistakes over and over without fail, falling prey to the same vices. Greed, lust, envy, pride – it didn’t matter. They were all the same, all meaningless, fruitless.

It was a vicious cycle, on and on he went. Days were the same. Years were the same. Nothing he did mattered anymore, things were always bound to repeat, and Steve was sick and tired of it all.

Some days he wondered if Erskine knew exactly what would happen when he injected Steve with the serum, though Steve could never find it in him to hate Erskine for what he did. Other days he was almost grateful that it was him stuck in the world rather than Bucky, because no one – especially not Bucky – should ever have to live with the curse of an eternity.

But eventually, things got better – or really, more _tolerable._

Steve started going out again, started choosing his missions more carefully once again. He never really made friends, never had a place to call home either, just went from place to place wherever his jobs took him, never staying in one city for too long.

He tried, at one point, to settle down and live like a normal person. He got a normal job, went to bars to drink, tried picking up a hobby, and then promptly gave it all up because he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was just playing house, trying desperately to be something he wasn’t and would never be.

So Steve faked his death and moved on, diving straight back into the dirty work and quickly making a name for himself once again, not white or black but grey, a threat to all and an ally to none.

The years were long and hard and although he remained young and strong as always, the people around him didn’t.

Bucky’s family moved on from their grief of losing him, each of them having their own respective families and children. Steve made sure to keep track of them over the decades, keep them all safe, even though their memory of Bucky was slowly diluting over time, becoming part of a long, distant past.

Bucky’s team, the Howling Commandos, all gradually passed away, one by one. Steve attended each and every one of their funerals, out of respect for Bucky.

Then news came of the deaths of Howard and Maria Stark. Steve suspected foul play almost instantly, and after hacking into a few government organisations, he tracked down and murdered the Hydra assassin who offed them. But the harm was already done and they too were long gone.

And last of the lot was Margaret Carter. She grew old, hair now all white, and developed Alzheimer’s. Steve pulled a lot of strings to get her settled in the best retirement home possible, again out of respect for Bucky.

It was only a matter of time before she too passed from this world, and there would be no one left who knew Bucky when he was alive except for Steve.

That realisation struck him harder than he anticipated, a piercing ache sinking deep into his chest, constricting, tightening, making it difficult to breathe.

It took Steve a while to figure it out, but he did eventually, and he finally realised that what he was experiencing, this horrible, raw, empty feeling like staring out into the pure void–

It was _loneliness._

\----------

Steve could hear the Avengers’ quinjet in the distance, drawing closer by the second, and Iron Man’s rockets even closer.

He knew he should leave, get out before they found him, but in all honesty, Steve was just–

Well, _tired _for one.

And he was pretty sure he had re-broken his ribs and dislocated his shoulder. Not including the multiple burns and lacerations scattered all over.

The building behind him was in shambles, reduced to ashes. Attacks from the last few remaining rogue robot tech from the previous day’s invasion – that the Avengers were _supposed_ to have made sure were completely eradicated.

He tightened his grip on the shield, flipped upside down like a bowl, drawing it closer to himself. His shoulder flared with pain at the movement.

And the two tiny kittens huddled in the middle of the shield shuddered, eyes gone wide. One let out a piercing meow, clearly distressed. Steve hadn’t managed to save the mother, crushed under a pile of rubble. It was just these two left. The kitten squirmed, meowing again. Steve shushed it, but it squirmed again, tail flicking to the side.

Then there was a bright streak of red and gold zooming through the sky, and Iron Man descended, carefully dropping down to the ground in front of Steve. He considered Steve for a few seconds, not moving.

“Well,” he started, face-plate coming up with a blink. “Look what the cat dragged in.” Then he squinted. “…Literally, apparently.”

The same kitten meowed once again, whiskers twitching. 

“So…you’re saving kittens now?”

Steve didn’t respond, tilting his body away to shield the kittens as the Avengers quinjet landed behind him, strong gusts of air blowing out.

After a few more seconds, the quinjet door hissed open behind him, and Steve bent down, lowering the shield and tilting it to slide the kittens out to the ground. Surely Stark would find them a safe home, or if not, one of the Avengers probably would.

“Are those…kittens?” the Widow asked as she approached, arching a single eyebrow at him. Then her gaze narrowed slightly on him. “Your shoulder’s dislocated.”

“What.” Stark jerked back to him.

Steve ignored them, picking up the shield with his uninjured hand, fingers sliding back into the straps. His shoulder burned again.

“I can reset it,” Banner suddenly piped up, stepping out from behind the Widow. He peered out cautiously at Steve. “…Can I?”

Steve knew he could easily pop it back in himself. He’d done it countless times by now, but he didn’t move when Banner inched forward, and the man took it as a welcome sign, flashing a quick smile as he shuffled forward again.

“Steve?”

Steve’s eyes flickered up. He couldn’t remember the last time somebody called him by name.

“Can I take a look?” Banner asked, fingers carefully not touching him.

Steve nodded once, and Banner reached out, fingers gently wrapping around his wrist, the other pressed to his back. A sharp flare of pain shot up his arm.

“Sorry.” Banner relaxed his grip slightly. “Try to relax.”

He mobilised Steve’s arm in the correct position, looking up briefly.

“Ready?”

Steve nodded, and with a pull–

He gritted his teeth as the bone finally popped back in place.

“…Thanks,” he said softly, and Banner smiled up at him. 

Then Stark piped up once again, cheery and insufferable as always.

“So anyway. Back to the…kittens? Wait, are they kittens? Not secret Hydra agents in training?”

“Seriously?” the Widow snorted, somehow already cradling both kittens in her arms, both well on their way to falling asleep.

Stark gave her a suspicious glance.

“Those aren’t allowed in the tower. They’re demons,” he declared.

“I thought cats were heralded as royal creatures in your realm,” Thor said, purely confused. Barton snorted at that.

“No they’re not! Did Romanoff tell you that?!”

The Widow pretended not to hear them, kissing both kittens on the head.

“This one will be Liho, and this one Alpine.”

“No, no no. Absolutely not. No furballs allowed_._ I veto this decision with extreme prejudice.”

“I’ll call Pepper.”

“Wha– _No! _She lov– I mean she hates cats. Deathly allergic to them, actually. And strawberries of course. Strawberries and cats. Deathly allergic. The smallest strand of – _put that phone down right now!!”_

The Widow easily dodged Stark’s attempts to grab the phone, sly smirk on her face. Barton was recording it with his own phone, while Thor and Banner were visibly amused at the side, Thor laughing deep from within his chest.

A pang of _something _struck Steve right then and he had to turn away, tightly gripping the shield that felt heavy as a bus now. He made a move to walk away.

“Hey, don’t try to sneak away!” Stark blurted out, and Steve turned, sighing soundlessly. What now?

“Right, so. Food. Lunch. Your metabolism’s off the charts so you must be starved.” Stark snapped his fingers. “I know this amazing Thai place a few blocks down. Bruce-approved. You’ll love it. The green curry there is mind-blowing.” It was phrased so deliberately casual that Steve immediately stiffened.

The rest of the Avengers weren’t looking at him, eyes carefully focused elsewhere, but all had quieted down, clearly waiting for his response. 

There was a long pause.

“…No,” Steve finally said.

Stark stared, not saying a word, then cracked his usual suave grin, quipping, “Not a fan of Thai? Hey, that’s fine. How about Korean? I know this other place. Amazing bibimbap. Or Indonesian? Japane–”

“No,” Steve said again.

“Just lunch, out of my pocket as always. No strings attach–”

_“No.”_

Stark finally fell silent, still staring at Steve. Then he sighed once.

“…Fine. Jeez, fine. I’ll send you the address if you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

And Stark’s smile changed, almost sad.

“Yeah, I know.”

\----------

No matter how many decades passed, there was one singular thing that remained unchanged – the constant war against Hydra, dismantling it, piece by piece.

Cut off one head and another would take its place. Never before had Steve hated that piece of philosophy so much, and now, he truly, deeply, detested its existence, down to its very core.

Missions involving Hydra always took priority over everything else, more often than not ending with him putting a bullet through someone's skull. It didn’t matter how much he got paid to do it (if he got paid at all), or who he had to go through to accomplish it. SHIELD, FBI, governments, the mafia, the mob – Steve didn’t care how many enemies he had to make.

Bucky gave his life fighting Hydra, and if Steve was cursed to live an eternity out here on earth, he would spend it all making sure Bucky’s legacy lived on, forever.

And that was how Steve eventually took on an assassination mission many, many years later.

A kill order.

In Odessa.

For a certain high-ranking SHIELD agent.

Or disgusting parasite.

_Alexander Pierce_ – prospective new Head of Hydra.

\----------

Steve was in New York again with his forty-eighth burner phone when the text came in.

_SHIELD found him. He’s alive._

\----------

It was sometime in the 2000s, a rainy day in Italy when Steve saw the news playing on the television – the opening of a new exhibit in the Smithsonian, a memorial of Bucky Barnes, the Soldier. A new permanent exhibit built in honour of the man and his contributions to America and to the world.

Steve hadn’t been back there in nearly a decade, and he vaguely wondered how much had changed. Was Bucky’s homeland still the same? Was _Steve’s _homeland still the same?

He accepted a job in DC that very night, packing a bag and flying off immediately.

\----------

Alarms were blaring in SHIELD headquarters when Steve came crashing in, shield bashing through the thick glass and splintering it into pieces.

“Code 15. All agents, code 15!”

A nearby SHIELD agent jerked up towards him, lunging out with a cry. Steve knocked him aside with the shield, sprinting off.

Every SHIELD agent in the vicinity started to swarm him, guns raised. Too many to fight off. Steve dodged another agent coming for him, jumping onto a table and boosting up to the second floor, hauling himself over the railings.

Two more agents came at him down the walkway, handguns raised up. Steve hurled the shield down, striking both of them back, then caught it again.

“–repeat, Code 15. Code 15!”

Steve dove past yet another agent as he darted down, ripping out the keycard pinned to her front pocket and slamming it into the card reader at the end of the hallway.

The steel doors slid open and Steve barrelled through, narrowing missing two shots fired from the back.

Another group of SHIELD agents awaited him behind the doors and Steve got straight to work, lashing out with the shield and a mixture of punches and kicks, until all were reduced to groaning masses on the ground.

And then there was a loud bang from downstairs, the sound of doors crashing open. A figure came jumping in, a blur as he sprinted through, closely followed by a horde of SHIELD agents scrambling to chase him down.

Steve jerked to a stop, switching directions immediately with a sharp twist. He threw himself back across the railings, breaking his fall with the shield and rolling back up on his feet.

Almost instantly, the figure stopped in his tracks, eyes fixed on the metallic glow of the shield, then up to Steve and–

God, how did he ever forget that shade of blue?

“…Steve?” Bucky gasped out. “Is that you?”

Steve didn’t have a chance to respond, even more SHIELD agents streaming in from the back, seconds away from catching up. He reached out to grab Bucky’s arm.

“We have to go.”

Bucky’s eyes went even wider, but he didn’t resist when Steve tugged him along, stumbling back into a full-blown sprint within mere seconds.

“What’s happening? Where the hell are we? Why is everything so–”

“Not now.”

Steve knocked aside an agent with the shield, using the pilfered keycard from before to get past a locked door and pulling Bucky through. No shots followed – SHIELD probably didn’t want to risk hitting Bucky.

Then all of a sudden, without warning, all the lights and alarms in the building were cut off, everything going dark. The door behind them locked shut. Both of them came to an abrupt stop, Bucky tensing up by his side. Steve felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

_You have five minutes gramps. Better hurry up :)_

Steve closed the message and punched in a series of numbers, pressing dial. The call connected on the first ring.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing Captain?! Give Barn–”

“SHIELD owes me a lot of favours over the years,” Steve interrupted. “I’m cashing them all in.”

“–_WHAT?! _No! Absolutely not!! You can’t just–”

Steve crushed the phone with one hand and Bucky blinked up at him through the dark, eyes still wide. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how confused and scared Bucky must be – there were a million things to tell him, explain to him, and how was Steve supposed to break all that to him? Was he even qualified? What if he messed it all up? What if–

Steve quickly shook those concerns away. He would figure it out later. _They _would figure it out later, together. They would have all the time in the world to do so anyway.

If Bucky chose to, of course.

Steve extended out a hand to him.

“Let’s get out of here,” he offered.

Bucky paused for a long enough time that he had Steve convinced he was going to refuse. Steve wouldn’t be surprised, given his history.

But then Bucky cracked a soft smile, and Steve relaxed.

“Let’s go.”

He placed a hand in Steve’s outstretched one, warm. _Alive._

Steve’s throat immediately went tight, vision gone blurry. How long had it been now – how many years? How many decades? God, much too long.

He blinked a few times rapidly, meeting Bucky’s eyes once again, and–

_Smiled_.

───── ⋅☆⋅ ─────

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part I! Part II coming up next.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone for giving this fic a chance and I hope you will enjoy the rest of it :)


	5. II: What's that?

## Part II: The After

──═══ ⋆☆⋆ ═══──

The Smithsonian was like a carnival at Coney Island, bright lights and colourful displays all around but with none of the fun. In fact, being here was just about as fun as pouring salt onto an open wound. Or jumping into a pool of acid and swimming inside. Or–

Staring at the wax figure that was modelled after his exact likeness but not recognising it at all. It looked more like some sort of mutated twin, a bizarre caricature of himself – which Bucky supposed was _exactly_ what he became in this…time.

He frowned and moved on, eyes flickering up to the next display and averting away just as quickly, heart plummeting.

His family. His mother, his sisters, everyone he knew, now part of a long distant past.

Bucky swallowed.

The next display was no better, portraits of all his friends, the Howling Commandos. All gone, long dead too. He stepped away and swallowed again, taking a deep breath in. Exhaling out.

“Bucky...?” former enemy, ex-Hydra – _Steve Rogers_ – called from behind, voice soft. Bucky looked up.

Just as young as when he last saw him (seventy years ago, his brain helpfully reminded), bright blue eyes blinking slowly at him. No pity to be found there, but not complete indifference either. Just–

“I’m fine,” Bucky said, the words coming out harsher than expected. Steve blinked, saying nothing, and Bucky let out a silent sigh, going to stand in front of the next display.

Why did he even think coming here was a good idea?

It had only been a week since he first found himself rudely uprooted and tossed into the twenty-first century, and everything still stung like a fresh burn, raw and oozing. Even Steve had visibly hesitated for a long minute before finally agreeing to bring Bucky here.

Because this was obviously a _terrible_ idea.

Bucky sighed again, this time out loud, and finally focused his attention on the display in front of him, snorting once at what he saw. His lips quirked up despite the heaviness in his heart.

“You look ridiculous,” he chuckled, gesturing up to the wholly inaccurate portrait of Steve.

The man in question shrugged in response, both hands tucked into his pockets as he came up to Bucky’s side, staring up at his own face – or more accurately, the caption underneath.

_The Captain. A product of Hydra’s scientific experiments. He was widely regarded to be one of the Soldier’s greatest foes until he was finally taken down in 1944._

Not a foe anymore, not dead either. There was that at least.

“Well, that needs correction for sure,” Bucky said. “Should say that you’re a hero. Helped save the world.”

Steve immediately flinched by his side, going completely tense.

Bucky’s half-smile faltered somewhat, a different heaviness sinking in.

Oh. _Right_.

Then he glanced down the rest of the exhibit. 

He could see his original dog tags being showcased further down, locked in a fancy glass box, and his old childhood diary even further down still, in a similar glass box. Then other random things from his childhood, books and toys, and even more display boards and pictures down at the very end – Howard, Peggy, even a video room.

Bucky’s heart sank even more, all energy seemingly drained out of him in an instant.

Reading about the past seventy years was one thing, but seeing all this in real life–

Everything he had lost broadcasted in his face like it was nothing, meant nothing; how his present was now the past, and the future was now the _present _and everyone and everything was gone or dead or–

There was a soft nudge at his elbow, and Bucky looked up.

“There’s a hot dog stand outside,” Steve said without explanation. 

Bucky blinked. 

“Why, are you hungry?”

Steve pulled out a few notes from his pocket and held them out, face as stoic as ever but eyes more perceptive than he let on.

“There’s ice cream too,” he added.

Bucky blinked again, suddenly thinking back to a snowstorm, stuck in an abandoned inn, talking about anything under the sun except the war they were currently engaged in. Did Steve remember...?

Then Bucky found himself smiling, completely genuine this time, reaching out to take the money as offered. 

“You know what,” he said. “This place is a waste of time. We should go get hot dogs. And ice cream.”

Steve flashed the faintest smile back – like a ghost of a smile – and nodded.

\----------

When Bucky first enlisted into the army, he never once expected to be scouted just two months in, let alone be chosen for some kind of special top-secret military program and turned into a literal super soldier.

But things happened and here he was now, one of the only two surviving subjects of Doctor Erskine’s serum, walking around in Howard Stark’s lab – his actual, _real _lab – and rolling his eyes as Howard continued to try to pitch strange, bizarre upgrades for his trusty sniper gun.

“This one is fun. Fitted with electrical relays and–”

“Like I said a million times before, I like my gun just fine, pal,” Bucky sighed, even though he was smiling. 

“Well yeah, but I can make it better, you see,” Howard insisted, putting down his electrical relay contraption. “Even Dum Dum let me build him a new rocket launcher – remember that Hydra tank from last week? That was all me.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “And I’m grateful for all your help, really. But call me old-fashioned, I like my gun the way it is.”

“Don’t be like that. Change and progress is the way forward! Come on, I’m sure I can change your mind once you see this.” Howard started wrestling with another giant contraption lined up on the table, pulling the wires and connecting them in place. “You’ll love this one, wait till you see what it can do.”

Then a bright glimmer under the table caught Bucky’s attention and he bent down, tilting his head to the side to get a closer look.

“What’s that?”

Howard stopped fiddling with his machine and followed Bucky’s gaze, then sighed once.

“Of course it’s an unfinished prototype that finally caught your attention,” he grumbled, pulling out some sort of metal discus from under the table. Perfectly circular, with thick leather straps fixed on the inside.

“Is that a…shield?”

“Yeah. Made of vibranium. Stronger than steel, completely vibration absorbent.”

Howard handed it over for him to try, and he flipped the shield over a few times, testing the straps.

“It’s so light,” Bucky remarked, staring in amazement at the reflective sheen of the shield. 

“Rarest metal on earth. What you’re holding is all we’ve got,” Howard said. 

Bucky tossed it up in the air and caught it in his arm again, fingers sliding through the straps. Light for its size, but surprisingly sturdy. Very interesting.

“You like it?” Howard asked, eyes glimmering.

Bucky threw it up again and caught it with the other arm. And again, this time with a small spin. His lips slowly curled into a grin.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

\----------

The twentieth day of Bucky’s new life in this century started with him waking up and staring long and hard at his vibranium shield propped up against the wall.

Still sitting there in the exact same spot as it had been exactly twenty days ago when Steve first gave it back after they escaped from SHIELD – or SSR.

Bucky honestly didn’t know if he could ever carry it again, especially not since he found out the man who gave it to him in the first place was long gone – dead after spending a whole lifetime searching for him.

He looked away and turned to get up, frowning when he noticed something sitting on his bed-side table. 

...Why were his dog tags here? Where did they come from?

He was pretty damn sure he last saw them back in the Smithsonian, locked in a glass box with about ten lights shining on it. 

Bucky’s frown deepened, and he picked up the dog tags, opening the door of his room and stepping out.

As per usual, he found Steve at the coffee table, scrolling through his phone (Bucky still couldn’t wrap his head around how small those things had become).

“Steve?” Bucky asked, shaking his old dog tags at him. “…Did you _steal _these from the museum?”

The thief in question looked up from his phone and blinked, facial expression completely unchanging.

“I–” Steve blinked once more. “–borrowed them.”

“You _borrowed _them,” Bucky huffed, raising a single eyebrow. “…Wow.”

“Nobody saw me,” Steve immediately defended, and Bucky's other eyebrow went up.

“_Wow._”

“I’m not giving them back. They’re yours,” Steve asserted with a slight frown, eyes going to a small book on the coffee table. A book with a familiar brown cover and–

Bucky gasped, stomping over and snatching it up.

“Did you steal this too?!” He waved his old school diary in the air.

Steve had the decency to look at least a tiny bit guilty – or at least Bucky _hoped _that was guilt.

“It belongs to you anyway,” Steve mumbled. “If anything, they stole it from you.”

“You mean–” Bucky shot him a look. “–_borrowed.” _

There was a pause, and Steve blinked a few times at him.

“…Yes.” He nodded agreeably. “_Borrowed._”

Bucky kept his stare for another few seconds, before finally giving in and snorting once, shaking his head.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Steve shrugged, totally unrepentant, and Bucky found his fingers subconsciously curling around the thin metal chain of his dog tags, rolling a thumb over the grooves of his name. Bumps and indents all in the right places just like he remembered.

Bucky’s throat grew tight, and he looked back down at his childhood diary, pages gone brown with age but still exactly the same book as before. Seventy years, and it was back in his hands again. No longer some fancy artefact at a museum to be ogled at.

He couldn’t help but smile, even as his eyes grew hot, then wet. He blinked a few times and glanced up at Steve.

“Thanks for stealing them back.”

“Borrowing,” Steve corrected adamantly.

Bucky laughed at that.

“Fine. Thanks for _borrowing _them.”

\----------

The shield quickly became one of Bucky’s primary weapons used in battle (Dum Dum thought it was ludicrous at first, but quickly shut up after the first five times it saved him from getting shot in the head).

Turns out, being constructed from a practically indestructible material made it well suited for both offence and defence. It could block knives, bullets and grenades, and it could slice through most materials if Bucky applied enough force to it.

The first time he brought it to war, it was a raid on a known Hydra concentration camp. The Captain was there – named that because he apparently reminded Gabe of his old CO, ruthless and cruel – and the man immediately narrowed his eyes upon seeing the shield, raising a gun and pulling the trigger.

A bang, hitting dead centre. The bullet shell dropped to the ground.

The Captain’s frown deepened, and Bucky took the chance to jump out, slamming the shield into him.

It took the blond by surprise, sending him crashing into a wall, bits of cement and brick flying out upon impact. He barely made a sound.

Bucky didn’t give him the chance to get up, immediately striking out with the shield once more. The Captain kicked off the wall and vaulted over him just in time, narrowing dodging the blow.

Within a split second, Bucky heard a gun being reloaded with a click. He twisted back with the shield up just as the shot was fired, and the bullet ricocheted off the edge of his shield.

There was a short pause, with both of them just staring at each other. The Captain’s eyebrows were furrowed together, lips tightened into a thin line, and Bucky readied up his shield again, swallowing.

The man had to know something was off; Bucky wasn’t usually this aggressive. He fought from a distance whenever he could, and the Captain was most certainly well aware of that.

But his goal here wasn’t to defeat him. The plan was to keep him distracted, far away from the prison cells where hopefully, the rest of the team had successfully infiltrated and found a way to free the prisoners before the Captain could call for reinforcements. 

So Bucky jumped up again with a growl, shield angled into an uppercut. The Captain blocked it and brought up a knife – where did that even come from – and started slicing and slashing, tossing the knife from hand to hand while Bucky blocked each blow as best he could.

A stab to the left, Bucky twisted to block it, and another strike immediately came in from the right, a second knife in hand. What the–

The blade cleanly forced its way beneath the shield straps – Bucky’s eyes widened – and with a single pull, the thick leather strap was sliced open.

“Fucking–”

Bucky was kicked back to the side, shield clattering to the ground.

The Captain bent down to pick it up and Bucky jumped back on his feet, growling, “That is _not _yours.”

And at that exact moment, the doors were blasted open.

Bucky had never been more thankful to see Dum Dum step through, armed with his Howard Stark-made rocket launcher.

The Captain ducked away as he fired the missile, detonating with a loud boom.

“Mission successful, Sarge,” Dum Dum said.

“Good work,” Bucky panted, darting over to reclaim his fallen shield.

The rest of his team started filtering in, along with a few prisoners, now armed, and the Captain immediately realised he was very outnumbered, making a quick escape up the second floor and out through the side door. 

Bucky didn’t bother giving chase.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said.

Nobody raised any objections.

\----------

When Bucky finally picked up his shield for the first time in seventy years, it felt like he was holding something completely new. Its weight was the same, the way it moved was the same, but for some reason, the shield felt like it didn’t belong to him. Not anymore.

The straps were new, the leather worn and scuffed but well-taken care of, oiled and hand-stitched in some areas for further reinforcement.

Bucky had seen some footage of Steve fighting with it during some sort of…alien invasion on a digital tablet, and he had to admit–

He had never once used it half as well as Steve did.

He handled it like a dream, calculating angles and forces on the fly, performing acrobatic (but deadly) acts with it that most definitely defied the laws of physics.

Bucky’s fingers tightened around the straps, pulling the shield back behind his shoulder as Steve had done in the footage, preparing to fling it out.

How long did Steve train to get that skilled? How many hours? Days? Years? _Seventy years. _

Bucky let his arm fall, the shield’s full weight sinking down onto his arm.

And that was when he noticed the slight gap between his fingers and the straps, which were broader, thicker, moulded to fit the grip of someone else, someone with slightly larger hands than him.

A whole seventy years of use pressed and carved into the leather surface, into every single stitch, each meticulously placed by design.

For some strange reason, Bucky found himself grinning.

\----------

It was an early morning when they finally returned to the base after another successful raid, fresh out from their uniforms and enjoying a drink or two. 

“–do you mean there was nobody there?” Bucky was asking, turning to look at Dum Dum with an incredulous look on his face.

“Well, the place was almost empty when we broke in. Guess the Captain thought we’d be targeting something else.”

“Right,” Bucky said, eyebrows furrowing. Dum Dum laughed at that, face slightly red from the alcohol, and he slapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, squeezing once.

“Why the long face, Sarge? We pulled off the most successful raid yet, took down that blockade and saved over a thousand men. You should celebrate!”

Bucky smiled and let out a single laugh, clinking his glass of beer against Dum Dum’s, gulping down a mouthful. Dum Dum did the same and laughed again, stumbling over to where Jacques was seated, barrelling into the man.

Bucky’s heart warmed at the sight.

Then he put his beer down on the table, smile dropping.

There was just something…off about it all.

Breaking into the prison camp and finding it basically left defenceless? Or how about that one time the Captain called for a retreat a tad earlier than he normally would? Or even the time they found the prison keys conveniently hanging by the door, unguarded?

More and more inconsistencies started coming to mind the longer he thought about it. Once or twice could be written off as a coincidence, but after that?

Bucky frowned, pushing his beer away. He _knew _the Captain, and the blond was definitely far too smart to be making rookie mistakes like that.

It was almost as if–

A loud crash broke his train of thought. Bucky immediately jerked to the side, where Dum Dum and Jacques had started wrestling on the floor, faces red and voices slurred.

Leave them alone for two minutes and–

He sighed and got up from his chair.

“Alright boys. That’s enough beer for everyone!”

There was a collective groan of protest.

\----------

It was four in the morning when Bucky woke up gasping, shivering with phantom chills all over.

He brought a hand up to his chest, forming a fist over his shirt. Not encased in ice, heart still beating. Alive.

He breathed out deeply.

It was still completely dark, save the glimmer of metal down at the floor – his shield, propped up against the wall as always, untouched. Bucky looked away and got up, making his way to the door as quietly as he could.

A quick peek outside revealed nobody in sight, just darkness throughout.

Bucky slipped out and shuffled to the kitchen, not even bothering to switch on the lights.

One hand reached for an empty mug, and the other reached out for the kettle sitting at the countertop.

Still warm, almost filled to the brim.

He didn’t recall boiling any water in the night before going to bed, and he definitely didn’t remember Steve doing so either.

Bucky frowned but poured out a huge cup, gulping down the whole thing in one go and pouring another cup. He finished that one within seconds too.

Then he let out a soundless sigh, running his fingers through his hair. Slightly damp from sweat, and getting pretty long now. His mother would have been so horrified to see it (she always said it was like a pigeon’s nest), although whatever horrified his mother would have only entertained his sisters. The more horrifying, the more entertaining.

Bucky cracked a small smile at the thought, before it dropped just as quickly.

Right.

None of them were here anymore.

He was but a memory in the Barnes family now, barely even a part of it anymore.

Bucky dropped his empty mug into the sink and started making his way back to his bed, though he knew fully well he was not getting any more sleep tonight.

But his hand paused at the doorknob, ears suddenly perking up.

There was a soft huff. Footsteps – not walking, not quite jumping either. Another huff, coming from the basement.

Clearly he wasn’t the only one awake at this hour. Bucky cocked his head in the direction of the stairs. What was Steve doing?

Bucky considered leaving him be. It was none of his business, Steve had a right to his own privacy anyway, but ultimately, curiosity won over everything else.

He made his way downstairs to the basement door, making no effort to silence his footsteps.

The door slowly creaked open and–

Steve was throwing a series of brutal punches and kicks in the air, panting heavily and completely drenched in sweat – and Bucky knew exactly how hard he had to push his body before he even _started _sweating.

He frowned and entered the room, closing the door behind him.

Steve didn’t react in the slightest, not even to look at him. He just continued his routine, eyebrows furrowed with his blond hair stuck to his face in thick clumps as he threw strike after strike. Each one fluidly transitioning to the next, all perfectly executed, down to every last twitch of muscle. A few moves Bucky recognised, most he didn’t, though there was no mistaking how deadly every single one of those moves would be if they landed.

Steve was good, like _really good._

Bucky continued watching for a few more minutes, before Steve finally finished his routine, both hands dropping to his side as he panted.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, I was already up.” Bucky didn’t elaborate further on that, and Steve’s eyes flickered to his, of the usual bright blue, with the barest sheen of something dark and hauntingly familiar peeking through. Something Bucky recognised every time he woke up gasping, staring deep into the mirror to remind himself of where and when he was again. It was only about three months for him, and seventy years for Steve, but he guessed some things could never be erased from memory, no matter how long it had been.

Steve blinked once, and that sheen went away. Back to alert again.

“…You okay?” he asked, voice soft.

“Are you?” Bucky returned, and Steve huffed in response.

A short silence.

“Do you want to spar?” Bucky offered, stepping up to Steve.

Steve blinked at him, considering, before finally nodding once, taking his position. Bucky did the same.

A breath, and Steve charged out, as ferocious as before, not holding back in the slightest – Bucky didn’t expect anything less.

Within a mere seven seconds, Bucky was tackled to the ground, caught in a chokehold. He didn’t even stand a chance.

“What was that?” Bucky asked when Steve released him, giving him space to get back up.

“Brazilian Jiu-jitsu.”

“Oh.” Bucky nodded once and got back into a fighting stance again.

He was knocked to the ground again within ten seconds.

“Krav Maga,” Steve said.

“Right.”

He jumped back on his feet.

This time, fifteen seconds, kicked and pinned to the ground.

“Taekwondo.”

Sixteen seconds.

“Muay Thai.”

Twenty seconds.

“Wushu.”

Nearly three whole hours passed like this, until Bucky too was completely drenched in sweat, panting. He still had yet to win even once, body aching and bruised all over, but he got into position again, fists up.

Then his stomach let loose the most untimely growl, and Steve blinked at him. There was no mistaking the flash of amusement darting across those blue eyes.

“Breakfast?” Steve asked, hands dropping down.

“A shower first, maybe.”

Steve nodded, throwing a clean towel by the side towards him.

“Can we do this again sometime?” Bucky asked carefully as he caught the towel, and Steve looked up, pausing for a few seconds.

Then he nodded.

“Okay.”

\----------

“We know where Hydra’s main supply base is,” Colonel Phillips announced one day, dropping a stack of folders on the table as he walked into the tent.

Bucky immediately looked up from cleaning his shield.

“Sir?”

“One of our spies brought back new intel,” Agent Carter cut in from behind, joining Phillips at the table.

Bucky put his shield down and headed over, flattening out the map Carter handed him, now newly annotated with red ink.

And there it was – the Hydra bunker, located high up on a hill and wedged in the middle of thick forestry. Heavily defended on all sides, not many ways to approach it from.

“It’ll be risky,” Phillips muttered.

Bucky made a sound of acknowledgement.

“Think you can pull it off?” Carter asked.

“Maybe,” Bucky said, staring hard at the map and then pointing at one particular spot. “But I’ll need a distraction.”

Both Carter and Phillips nodded.

“What do you have in mind?”

\----------

Sparring with each other quickly became a daily thing, usually just before breakfast, and today was no exception.

They were at the basement as usual, engaged in a heated spar – the longest so far, ten minutes twenty-five seconds and still going.

Steve was aiming quick jabs left and right, while Bucky ducked and blocked them all, launching out with his own mixture of kicks and strikes. Steve too, countered them all (just as Bucky knew he would).

Another flurry of punches, a few feints, then a leg sweep caught the edge of Bucky’s ankle, easily knocking him over. He struck the ground hard, hissing out loud. Steve wasted no time lunging in to finish the job, and Bucky rolled over, kicking back up on his feet within a blink of an eye. Fingers curled into fists, up and ready to go again.

Steve came charging out with a full-body tackle. Bucky immediately jumped aside to dodge, kicking off a wall and landing back on both feet.

A powerful hook came flying in right after. Bucky blocked it, threw out his own punch with a huff, had that countered, dodged another blow, barely grazing his shoulder and there–

Bucky pounced at the opening, one arm shooting out from behind.

Steve’s eyes went wide, but it was far too late.

Bucky grabbed firm hold of him and twisted, throwing him over to the ground with a loud ‘thump’. Steve barely had time to react, and Bucky jumped in with his entire body weight, firmly pinning him down.

There was a stunned pause.

Steve blinked a few times at him, before going completely limp under Bucky’s hold, head dropping back to the ground.

“Eleven minutes and two seconds,” Bucky announced, still huffing.

And against all of his wildest expectations–

Steve broke into a smile, corners of his eyes crinkling as he did so – practically over the moon despite having lost. Bucky couldn’t help but grin back, panting and covered in sweat.

“One more round?” Bucky asked, getting off Steve and offering a hand to help him up.

Steve took it without hesitation, jumping back into a fighting stance once again.

“Two more.” Steve nodded, still smiling.

“You mean three,” Bucky said.

“Five,” Steve confirmed with a hum.

Then he launched out at Bucky again – always the first to strike. Bucky prepared himself, grin widening. 

\----------

Their biggest Hydra attack thus far began on a bad note, plans of causing a distraction long gone down the drain.

The Captain wasn’t one to be fooled by simple tricks and schemes, ignoring the distraction completely and launching a brutal counterattack on Bucky’s squad from the get-go.

Things weren’t looking good, and in all honesty, neither was the weather.

Powerful gales swept in, rolls of thick clouds blanketing the sky in an ominous grey. A snowstorm was creeping in, and fast.

Bucky was managing to hold the Captain back so far, but only barely, a last-ditch attempt to buy his team a few precious minutes to finish planting the bombs and blow this place to hell.

His forearm was split open, fresh blood gushing out, and there were two large bruises covering the bulk of his abdomen and back – all courtesy of the Captain. The man really wasn’t pulling his punches today, although he didn’t escape completely unscathed either, bleeding from the cheek and a massive laceration down the shoulder.

Bucky quickly twisted as a knife came slicing down, blade screeching as it met his shield. The Captain gritted his teeth and threw his knife up, swiftly catching it with his other hand and slashing down again. Bucky blocked that too.

“I’m not letting you win,” Bucky hissed as he dodged a stab.

The Captain responded with three consecutive strikes, two quick jabs followed by a slash. The last nicked the tip of his elbow, bright red oozing out.

Then the metal grills above chose this exact moment to let out a loud rattle, banging hard against each other.

Both of them jerked to the window at the side, howling winds battering down on the glass. Grey rapidly going white.

Damn. This was bad.

The Captain took that brief moment of inattention to launch out, fresh gun in hand and loading with a click. Bucky cursed and raised his shield just in time, the shot ricocheting off harmlessly.

And then finally, fucking _finally_–

There was a loud ‘boom’, quickly followed by a low rumble. Bright orange blossomed amidst the white outside.

The Captain’s expression visibly soured.

“Too fucking late.” Bucky couldn’t help but grin. Dum Dum and the rest pulled through yet again, with impeccable timing as always. 

Another boom, and the Captain’s jaw hardened, re-holstering his gun back at his belt.

“This isn’t over,” he growled, swiftly turning back and making a quick getaway. 

Bucky didn’t give chase. It was over, it was their victory, but there was no time to celebrate. The building was minutes from being blown to bits, and he still needed to find shelter before the full brunt of the snowstorm came crashing in. 

He spared a quick glance outside and took a deep breath, before charging out into the raging white, howling winds battering him front and back.

It took just a few seconds out braving the elements before Bucky’s teeth started chattering against his will, but he held strong, using the shield to block off as much wind and ice as he possibly could.

Within another minute, the buildings and trees all around were swallowed up by white, with not a single person in sight.

Bucky was shivering uncontrollably, the cold starting to sink in, gnawing down to the very bone. Erskine’s serum could do many great feats, but it could only protect him from so much. He needed to find shelter, fast.

And that was when he caught sight of a few small indents in the snow.

Footsteps. Fresh. Leading off into the distance.

Bucky tightened his grip on his shield.

There was a brief second of hesitation, and he changed directions, trudging along beside the footsteps, following the trail out deeper into the storm. 

What was the worst that could happen at this point?

\----------

Seventy years had turned New York into a scene straight out of one of Howard’s daydreams, technology covering every inch of the place. There were sleek cars (not flying ones) zooming about, neon lights everywhere, and everyone these days carried something called a smartphone, a small touchscreen device that had access to something else called the Internet, which in turn gave access to other things like Google and YouTube and Instagram (Steve had explained this to him patiently at least three times before).

This modern world was just all so confusing. Bucky basically had his world turned upside down and flipped sideways more than once in the past five months, and he honestly didn’t think anything else could really surprise him at this point.

Except of course he had to be proven wrong, and no amount of preparation could remotely brace him for–

Steve having both hands wrapped around a huge cup of some sort of iced drink, dyed an alarming pink, with a giant mountain of marshmallow whipped cream and chocolate syrup to top it all off.

“You–” Bucky gestured vaguely at the – was it called a _frappuccino?_ “–really like sugar, don’t you?”

Steve didn’t reply. He didn’t need to, given the way he was guzzling down the iced drink like a man dying from thirst, licking off every bit of marshmallow whipped cream on top.

“You’re going to get cavities, or diabetes, or something equally horrifying if you keep drinking that.”

Steve looked up, completely unperturbed.

“Can’t,” he said simply, shrugging once. “Serum.”

“Right, of course. That explains everything,” Bucky muttered blandly, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Steve offered out the cup for him to try, and he immediately recoiled.

“Absolutely not! That’s disgusting.”

Steve’s response to that was to gulp down another huge mouthful.

“Gross.”

The tip of Steve’s mouth quirked up, just the slightest.

Then came a loud cry from across the street, and both of them immediately turned.

A big red balloon was being swept off into the air, making a quick escape from the tiny grabby hands of one slightly larger brown-eyed kid, just seconds away from a full meltdown.

Before Bucky could react, a half-finished frappuccino was thrust into his hand, and Steve was already at the other side of the street, kicking off a lamp post and grabbing the balloon’s string, tugging it back down.

Steve offered it out to the kid, and the kid instantly ducked behind her mother’s legs with a panicked cry. That made Steve pause, then he knelt down, reaching the kid’s eye level and offering the balloon again. The kid eyed the balloon carefully, eyes puffy and red, and upon encouragement from her mother, slowly inched out.

Bucky couldn’t help but grin at that, before finally registering the presence of one ice-cold drink in his hand again. Steve’s disgusting abomination, left conveniently unattended. He gave a brief glance at the bright pink thing, eyes automatically flickering to the garbage bin standing just three steps away.

Well…

It took a few more seconds for Steve to finish tying the balloon string around the kid’s wrist and make his way back across the street, and near instantly, his eyes narrowed at Bucky, both hands now suspiciously empty.

“I accidentally dropped it,” Bucky said with a straight face. Steve’s eyes narrowed further. “In the bin,” he added. “Where it belongs.”

Steve’s lips twisted in a – if he dared say – a _pout_, and Bucky smirked.

There was a brief pause, then Steve fished out some cash from his pocket, glaring once at Bucky.

“I’m getting a new one,” he declared, starting to walk away.

“You shouldn’t be eating so much sugar. It’s not good for you, Steve!”

He was ignored of course, and just two minutes later, Steve came out of the café armed with a fresh cup of cotton candy frappuccino, only this time it had an even larger mountain of whipped cream on top. And sprinkles. _Multiple _servings of sprinkles.

Bucky groaned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II :)


	6. II: Who's next?

“I’m not saying you’re crazy,” Dum Dum was saying. “But–”

“–are you _insane?! _” Gabe yelled, throwing both hands in the air. “The Captain is the enemy!!”

The rest of the Howling Commandos nodded vigorously, crossing their arms.

“Look,” Bucky started. “Just hear me out.”

“He’s Hydra_, _Bucky,” Dum Dum said. “Do you know how many people he’s killed? And what about Erskine? Have you forgotten about that too?_” _

“He didn’t kill Erskine. It was Schmidt.”

“And how would you know that?”

“He told me.”

“Oh, so he _told _you now?” Gabe scoffed. “Come on. You’ve got to realise how this sounds, right? How do you even know it wasn’t a lie?”

Bucky sighed once, running a hand through his hair.

How was he supposed to convince them? They weren’t there with him in the snowstorm. They didn’t see how the Captain – _Steve _– acted.

“I don’t, but it’s– There’s just this _feeling_ about him. He could have killed me multiple times before, but he didn’t.”

“That doesn’t prove that he’s not the enemy!” 

“It doesn’t prove that he _is _either,” Bucky rebutted.

All of them sighed in unison. 

“Seriously?”

“Please, all I’m asking for is a chance to talk to him. That’s it.”

Dum Dum looked up, fixing Bucky with a serious stare.

“He’ll kill you.”

“He won’t.”

“It’s too risky._”_

“Just give me a chance, please.”

“Bucky, whoever you think he is, whatever he’s said to you…some people just can’t be saved.”

“You don’t know that.”

There was a long pause, and Dum Dum sighed out loud, shaking his head and raising a single finger. 

“You get one chance.”

“One chance.” Bucky nodded immediately, letting out a breath.

“One,” Dum Dum repeated sternly. “And I’ll put a bullet in his head.”

\-----------

One.

That was the total number of things that needed to go wrong before laughter turned into screams, fear taking over everything else.

And to think it all started on an innocent morning like any other, fluffy clouds drifting across a pure blue sky.

\-----------

Steve’s eyes were orbs of cracked blue when he asked, “Why did you save me?”

Bucky was lying on the train floor panting, muscles aching and shaking from the cold, but what else could he have responded with other than–

“…Couldn’t let you die.”

Because that was the truth.

He couldn’t have just stood and watched while Steve plummeted to his death, doomed to die alone out in the cold. He didn’t deserve that. He deserved–

And then Steve suddenly growled, tackling right into Bucky with his fist raised.

“Fuck!” Dum Dum cursed from above, his rocket launcher freshly locked and loaded.

“Don’t hurt him!” Bucky immediately shouted. “I’ve got this under control.”

“The hell you do!!”

The punch didn’t land, and Bucky met Steve’s eyes, remaining completely still.

“You don’t have to do this, Steve,” Bucky whispered.

Steve said nothing, and still the punch didn’t come.

“We can help you. I promise.”

Something flickered across Steve’s eyes, and for just the briefest moment, he looked nothing like the infamous Captain or a ruthless Hydra soldier. He was just a young man like Bucky. Human. And _sad. _

Then something came flying in from the side, bludgeoning Steve in the skull with a sharp ‘crack’. The man immediately crumpled to the ground.

“Wha–”

“You shouldn’t be fraternising with the enemy, Barnes.”

“I told you I had things under control!” Bucky exclaimed, fingers immediately going up to Steve’s neck.

Pulse present. Thank god.

“Zola’s in the next room. We should hurry before he calls for reinforcements,” Dum Dum said, tossing over his shield. Bucky caught it with one hand, staring down at Steve, unconscious but still alive.

“Bucky, we have to go.” 

“Okay,” Bucky finally said, standing back up. “Let’s go.”

\-----------

Coney Island was as crowded as Bucky remembered, even decades after he was last here. Children were walking around with fancy balloons tied to their wrists, arms clutching giant tubs of popcorn and sticks of cotton candy, all giggling and running about, having the time of their lives.

Bucky turned to Steve to tell him something, before stopping, and sighing.

“Really?” He gestured towards the fresh new stick of cotton candy Steve had mysteriously procured in the last two seconds of taking his eyes off him. “That’s the _fourth_ one.”

Steve blinked at him.

“They’re different flavours.”

“They’re all just sugar.”

Steve shrugged, looking entirely unrepentant as always while he plucked out tufts of candy and popped them into his mouth.

Bucky sighed again at that, shaking his head and making his way down the street, both sides lined with carnival game booths and giant stuffed toy prizes hanging from the top. Steve followed at his side.

The iconic ferris wheel stood tall in the distance, a giant circle of steel, with colourful carriages slowly inching their way up to the top.

Bucky remembered sitting in it with his sisters decades ago in a much simpler time, though little had changed since. The carriage colours were the same, the sky still the same shade of pale blue, and the sounds around him were also exactly the same. Shouts of joy, children laughing, couples giggling and flirting with each other.

Still a place of fun, where everyone could forget about everything and be happy for a brief moment.

A peaceful place.

And then–

Disaster struck.

There was a loud ‘boom’ in the air, and a series of ear-piercing screams.

The red carriage near the top of the ferris wheel had black smoke billowing out of it and was starting to tilt, bending out precariously. Bucky’s eyes flew to the metal support rod immediately above, freshly snapped into two and charred at both ends.

He cursed out loud.

“It’s not going to hold,” Steve murmured before breaking into a sprint down the path. Bucky did the same, throwing his bag over and tearing through the zips to rip the shield out, fingers curling around the straps.

“Two children trapped inside,” Bucky said, peering through the smoke, just as a loud gunshot resonated in the air. More screams were heard, and people started running away, eyes filled with terror.

“We need to stop the wheel,” Steve said. “Get the people away.”

“I’m on it,” Bucky breathed out. “You get the children. I’ll handle the rest.” 

Steve nodded and picked up the pace.

\-----------

“This doesn’t have to be difficult,” Colonel Phillips said, seated opposite Zola in the interrogation room.

“It really doesn’t,” Bucky added from the side, arms crossed and towering over the slimy doctor. “Tell us what Schmidt is planning.”

Zola kept silent, and the Colonel sighed out loud exaggeratedly.

“Just think about it for a second,” the Colonel said. “You’d be dead either way. Whether quick or slow, that depends on you.”

Zola let out a dry laugh. 

“It’s too late anyway,” he muttered. “You can’t stop him.”

“Why?”

Zola laughed again.

“How could you possibly hope to stop him, when his target is _everywhere?_”

\-----------

Bucky counted exactly eleven masked terrorists running loose, releasing a barrage of heavy gunfire on innocent civilians, all screaming and scurrying away.

Steve knocked down one and vaulted ahead, latching onto the ferris wheel with a single leap and steadily climbing his way up.

The terrorist yelled at him to stop, raising a gun. Bucky charged out from behind with the shield and knocked him back, sending him flying up in the air.

Another terrorist turned his gun onto Steve, a few feet ahead. Too far to hit unless–

Bucky gritted his teeth and adjusted his stance. Knees bent, arm back, eyes on target – just like Steve showed him.

He flung out the shield with a huff.

The gun was knocked away with a sharp yelp, and the shield came flying back a few degrees off to the right. Not a perfect throw, but at least it did its job. He leapt to the side and caught it, hands slipping into the straps–

–just in time to meet a rain of gunfire from a pair of terrorists down at the ferris wheel controls.

The bullets battered down like hailstones, empty shells falling to the ground.

“What the fuck!” a terrorist said.

Then Bucky heard the tell-tale click of an empty gun and pounced out, kicking one down and brutally slamming the shield into the other. Both fell to the ground, knocked out cold.

Bucky darted into the control booth, pulling the emergency stop lever.

The ferris wheel screeched to a halt. Everyone trapped inside screamed out in panic.

“Hang on!” he yelled. 

Steve was now halfway there, the red carriage mere seconds from giving way and plummeting to the ground.

Then came more gunshots, the sound of glass shattering, and Bucky instinctively raised the shield, peering out through the side.

Nine more left. One coming in hot, the other eight hanging at the sides – one at the back with a massive rocket launcher on his shoulder, newly locked and loaded and pointing up at the ferris wheel.

Bucky cursed as he dodged an incoming tackle, jumping back and wildly flinging the shield out with every bit of strength he had.

It soared through the air and smashed into the side of the rocket launcher, knocking it sideways. The missile exploded into a fence a few feet away, erupting into bright orange flames. The shield clattered to the ground just beside.

A knife slash immediately came flying in from the left – Bucky ducked just in time before it struck, aiming a kick to the back of the knee. The terrorist yelped and fell to the ground, immediately getting a second kick to the face. Down for the count.

A quick glance up and Steve was finally at the carriage, prying the door open with a single pull and reaching in.

There was a loud groan from the ferris wheel, and the last metal support holding the carriage up starting to bend, crumpling inwards. Fuck, it wasn’t going to–

Bucky dashed out, sliding down and grabbing the shield by the edge.

“STEVE!” he yelled as he threw the shield out, aimed low. God, he just hoped he made the right calculations and–

The shield ricocheted off the tip of an empty carriage with a clang, shooting up high.

There was a final sickening crack, and the support beam snapped into two. The carriage started to plunge, and with it, Steve – arm tightly wrapped around the two children.

\-----------

There were many instances where Bucky felt pride in his life, but nothing could beat the very moment Steve finally stood up to Schmidt, vibranium shield glimmering in the light.

“I’m not letting you do this,” Steve snarled, eyes fierce with renewed determination.

“Ungrateful ingrate! Traitor!!” Schmidt shouted.

Bucky turned to look at Steve.

“Let’s do this,” he said. “Together.”

Steve looked at him and nodded, and with a single yell, they charged out at Schmidt, fists raised.

\-----------

Bucky’s heart was lodged straight in his throat when Steve tucked the children in, free hand reaching out.

Oh god please–

He caught the shield mid-air and twisted around, immediately angling the shield downwards.

The carriage smashed into the ground at the same time Steve did, the shield absorbing most of the impact.

Two tiny heads peeked out from his chest, very much alive, and Bucky let out a breath.

“Behind you!” Steve shouted as he threw the shield back. Bucky grabbed it with a jump, twisting over to fend against the incoming attack. 

The shield slammed into the terrorist, making him yelp and stagger back, while a second brute charged forth, pulling out a gun. Bucky tilted the shield up just in time to block the gunshot.

Then Steve called him from behind, and without a second thought, Bucky tossed the shield up in the air.

Steve came lunging in over his shoulder, catching the shield and striking it down into the terrorist. The gun clattered to the floor, and Bucky knocked him out with a punch.

“Who’s next?” Bucky asked to no one in particular.

There was a pause, then all eight remaining terrorists turned and charged at them in unison, guns up and yelling. A brawl quickly ensued, and Bucky immediately went back to back with Steve, fluidly tossing the shield between them without so much as a blink.

Bucky had almost forgotten what it was like – fighting Steve was by all means hard, but fighting _with _him was as easy as breathing. Like two parts of a perfectly-oiled machine, moving at the same frequency. It was nothing but _exhilarating_.

Within a minute, they knocked out seven terrorists. Just one left.

There was the faintest click of a gun and Steve immediately leapt in front of Bucky, raising the shield.

Four shots were fired in quick succession, bullets dropping to the ground harmlessly.

“Fucking hell!” the terrorist cursed out loud.

Steve exchanged a single glance with Bucky.

Then exactly like they had done seventy years before, they charged out together, Steve on the left with the shield and Bucky on the right.

Steve disarmed him with a shield throw and Bucky knocked him over with a leg sweep. With a final strike to the face, the last terrorist was down.

Threat neutralised.

\-----------

They defeated Schmidt eventually, but the Valkyrie was still airborne with those deadly missiles, all too ready to lay waste to everything Bucky treasured and loved. His family, his friends, his home. What would he do to protect them all?

The answer came easily, and Bucky found himself murmuring, “There’s not going to be a safe landing.”

Steve looked briefly confused.

“What? You have a plan?”

“I…” Bucky couldn’t say it, walking up to his silver vibranium shield, mirror-like and completely unmarked despite all it had been through. It definitely lived up to its name as being unbreakable.

“Bucky?” Steve called again, more urgently this time. “Do you have a plan?”

“I…yeah. Yeah.”

Two of them were on board the plane, but only one was required to pilot it and do what was necessary to save everyone else.

The other–

Bucky looked up at Steve, bright blue eyes so full of life and emotion – something even a lifetime of brainwashing by Hydra couldn’t snuff out completely – and immediately knew what he had to do.

\-----------

The headlines hit when they were safely back in the apartment.

‘Harrowing terrorist plan foiled by the Avengers.’

His and Steve’s names were mentioned nowhere in any of the articles, and there were no pictures or videos of the incident to be found anywhere either.

Steve’s phone vibrated at that very moment, a new message popping up. Bucky couldn’t help but peer over (Steve didn’t stop him) and cracked a smile when he saw ‘Frisbee Grandpa’ at the top.

_Nice work. And you’re welcome by the way :)_

“Gonna reply to him this time?”

Steve looked at Bucky, and pointedly pressed the delete button. 

Of course.

\-----------

When Bucky tilted the plane down into the ice, he felt no fear, only a sense of complete calm. Peace. Maybe even a little bit of happiness.

After so many years, Steve was finally free from Hydra. He could do anything he wanted. Live a new life. Find happiness. He deserved that chance at the very least.

Then the impact finally came, everything turning into a pure black.

And cold.

_So much cold._

\-----------

It was four weeks since the ferris wheel, and four weeks since Bucky realised first-hand just how much the shield suited Steve.

It wasn’t just that he was proficient with it, but rather, something about the way he wielded it. Always with a certain gentleness, but exuding incredible strength and integrity. Steve made the shield _shine _in his hands, in a way Bucky knew he could never hope to mimic. 

It was clear to him before, but the incident at the ferris wheel finally solidified it – after seventy years, the shield no longer belonged to him. Maybe it never did. Maybe it was just waiting for the right person to come along to wield it.

And one fine morning, Bucky finally said it out loud. 

“I want you to have the shield.”

Steve instantly jerked as if someone just stabbed him, looking up from the couch.

“What?”

“I want you to have the shield.”

“I–” Steve frowned. “What? No.”

Bucky already anticipated the resistance, and he quickly gestured out with both hands.

“Hear me out.”

“No.”

“Steve, just–”

_“No,” _Steve stubbornly said again. “Howard Stark made it for you. To fight. To do good. It belongs to you_. _Not _me_.”

Bucky caught the hint of anger contained within, but it wasn’t directed towards him, or even Howard. His heart gave a sharp twist, shoulders falling slightly. After so long, Steve still–

“Hey,” Bucky said softly. “You’ve done a lot of good with the shield. Seventy years, and you helped and saved a lot of people.”

Steve looked up.

“I’ve _killed_ a lot of people,” he muttered, voice flat.

“If you did, they probably deserved it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t,” Bucky admitted. “I just believe so.”

“Your belief doesn’t mean a thing.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you still saved a ton of lives.”

“That’s not true.”

“Really? I’m not the one credited with saving the world from an alien invasion. Or rescuing kittens from burning buildings. Or returning lost balloons to little children on the street. Was–”

“Well you’re not the one who voluntarily joined and fought for a terrorist organi–”

“Voluntarily? God– Steve, you were _six _when you joined Hydra. A _child. _How much consent and free will was involved in that?”

Something flashed across Steve’s eyes.

“I didn’t tell you that.”

It wasn’t an accusation, but something close, and Bucky swallowed once, letting out a breath.

“Zola had files on you back then,” he finally said, keeping his tone soft. “The things they did to you–”

Steve immediately stood up from the couch.

“We’re done talking about this,” he snapped, making a beeline for the door.

“Steve–”

The door closed shut behind him, basically the equivalent of a door slam, and Steve was gone.

\-----------

Bucky knew something was wrong the moment he opened his eyes.

The air smelled clean – almost _too _clean, the walls around him were polished smooth, and the radio was–

_Where the hell was he?_

Bucky immediately got up from the bed, glancing around.

The Valkyrie–

The door at the end of the room suddenly twisted open, and in came a young woman with perfectly curled hair and scarlet red lips. Everything about her screamed _wrong._

“Good morning,” she said. “Or should I say afternoon?”

Even more warning bells started ringing in Bucky’s head.

“Where am I?”

\-----------

That very evening, Bucky found Steve in the basement training, panting and covered in sweat.

“Hey,” Bucky said as a greeting once Steve completed his routine, offering out a drink cup with a smile. “Cotton candy frappuccino, extra scoop of vanilla ice cream, two pumps of strawberry, marshmallow whipped cream, chocolate syrup and sprinkles.”

Steve blinked.

“You remembered.”

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s still disgusting,” Bucky said. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t pay attention.”

Steve smiled faintly and took the cup, but didn’t drink from it.

“What’s wrong?”

Steve didn’t say anything, still looking down. 

“…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the files,” Bucky hazarded.

“It’s fine.”

“I didn’t even know it was about you at first. It didn’t have any names or pictures. Just a subject number. It was awful, the things he did to you.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s dead now.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Yes.”

“Good. He deserved it.” Bucky nodded.

There was a silence, and then Steve finally looked up, eyes firm. 

“I can’t take the shield,” he said.

“I know,” Bucky said with a sigh, before pausing for a second. “Not now, maybe.”

Steve gave him a look.

“Not ever.”

“Someday.”

“You shouldn’t have so much faith in me.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t. It’s not faith. It’s a _fact._”

Steve sighed out loud, taking a large gulp from his frappuccino.

“I don’t know what it is you see in me,” he grumbled under his breath.

And Bucky smiled at him.

“The same thing Erskine saw in _you._”

\-----------

“Code 15. All agents, code 15!”

Bucky didn’t stop to wonder why the code changed from 13 to 15. It didn’t matter. What mattered was him getting the hell out of here and finding out what the fuck was going on.

Why was everything so strange? Why were people dressed weird? Why did the air smell so god damn _wrong?_

Bucky kept sprinting down, ignoring the masked men chasing him from behind, shouting at him to stop.

A door came up near the end of the corridor and Bucky tightly clenched his jaw, throwing his entire weight at it.

It splintered apart easily, and Bucky charged on through, dashing down.

At that very moment, a man dropped down from the second floor directly in front of him.

Blond, blue-eyed, carrying a meta–

“…Steve?” Bucky gasped out. “Is that you?”

\-----------

The first hint of spring revealed itself as a wash of pale pinks outside, dusts of lavender and white peppered in and melting into a brilliant blue up in the sky.

Cherry blossoms in full bloom, more beautiful in person than on a screen or printed in a book.

Bucky couldn’t help but coo and grin as he continued staring out of the train, still steadily rumbling down the tracks to wherever they were going next. 

“You’re like a kid,” Steve said from beside him, evidently amused.

“You’re the kid. I’m not the one who bought a dozen donuts and ate them all in one sitting. A _dozen, _Steve.”

“They were good donuts.”

“And you didn’t give me any.”

“Shouldn’t have eaten the last cream puff,” Steve lamented.

“You ate four. I had two.”

“Still.”

“…You’re an asshole, did you know that?”

Steve’s amusement only deepened, and Bucky threw the nearest thing in his general direction – a paper receipt – which Steve immediately caught and tucked away.

Bucky returned to staring out of the window, a smile breaking out again when the pink trees came into view.

Utterly breathtaking.

He never once imagined he would get a chance to see something like this, not back in the war surrounded by greys and reds, or even in this new century populated by screens and strange technology. All completely foreign to Bucky, although it was gradually starting to feel a bit more _homely_ as of late – not home, maybe not ever, but something close. Different. A good different.

Six months, and Bucky had seen and tried so many new things. Food, clothes, culture, technology – adapting to change used to be nothing but tedious, even if Steve had always been very careful not to overwhelm him too much in one go.

But then one day Bucky stopped waking up with a heavy heart pounding hard against his chest, the thought of ‘_I’m still here’_ deeply etched into his brain. These days Bucky still woke up with a racing heart, but instead of feeling heavy, he felt feather-light, excited for the day ahead. 

Things were better, and when Steve came up to him one morning with two printed tickets for a flight to Tokyo, Bucky said yes immediately.

They were packed and off within a day, sitting first-class no less (which Bucky argued was a lavish waste of money, but Steve just shrugged it off, saying he had the money).

Steve brought him everywhere. They ate ramen, sushi, udon and of course – an obnoxious amount of sweets that Steve enthusiastically guzzled down while Bucky cringed at the side.

So now here they were with the most beautiful scenery in the backdrop, on board a train off to a different city, to a different safehouse – seriously, how many houses did Steve own?

After another ten more minutes of staring out of the window, they entered a tunnel, pretty pinks quickly swallowed by darkness. Bucky made a disappointed groan and sunk back into his seat.

“Two more hours before we reach,” Steve said.

Bucky made a noise of acknowledgement and bent down, reaching under the seat.

The shield was there tucked away in its own separate bag, stubbornly tilted more towards his side – Steve refused to accept it still, but Bucky suspected the day he finally would wasn’t too far off into the future. Day by day, second by second, Steve was slowly working towards it. That, Bucky knew for certain, just as certain as he was about Steve eventually joining a certain ragtag gang of individuals back in New York. Maybe not today, and not tomorrow either, but someday, definitely.

He pushed the shield aside gently and reached for his haversack buried underneath, unzipping it and pulling out his tablet.

“Want to watch a movie?” Bucky asked, tapping on the screen to turn it on.

“What kind of movie?”

“I downloaded a few animated movies.”

Steve twitched and blinked, basically the equivalent of him perking up, and Bucky resisted the urge to smile.

It was definitely no coincidence that they arrived here just in time for spring, not especially after weeks of Bucky reading up on the cherry blossom season and Japanese culture, and well – Steve wasn’t the only one that could be observant. Bucky had eyes too.

He let Steve pick a movie while he rummaged for a pair of earphones, connecting them in. Bucky offered Steve an earbud, and he took it after a second’s hesitation, carefully easing it in.

Then Bucky finally tapped play and inched closer, balancing the tablet carefully between them, thighs almost touching.

The movie started, an orchestral piece blaring to life as colourful images popped up on screen.

A few minutes in, and Bucky gave up trying to concentrate on the movie, not when the air around him (most especially at his left) had turned burning hot, almost tingling to the skin from the sheer proximity. For some reason, Bucky’s eyes were drawn up to Steve’s face, now just a mere inch away. Not touching, but close, _dangerously _close.

He never really noticed, but Steve’s hair wasn’t just blond – there were streaks darkened to brown under the shadows, directly in contrast with the few wispy strands almost glowing white under direct light, forming a warm gradient of shimmering gold, shifting ever so slightly with the smallest twitch. 

Something fluttered in Bucky’s chest, and his eyes drifted downwards still, drawn to the length of Steve’s eyelashes (he’d never really noticed how long they were too), then finally focusing on the liquid blue of his eyes, tiny flecks of sea-green peppered in.

The fluttery feeling intensified.

Then Steve suddenly met his gaze, eyes widening ever so slightly. He blinked once, then looked away just as quickly, resolutely staring at the tablet.

“You’re not watching,” he said, barely a mumble, and was it just Bucky’s imagination, or was Steve the faintest shade redder than usual?

“Sorry,” Bucky replied. His earbud nearly dropped out when he moved, and he leant forward even closer, his shoulder brushing against Steve’s and yeah–

That was definitely the colour_ red._

“So…What’s the story again? And why is there an army of those tiny yellow things?” Bucky asked, eyes very much still not looking at the screen.

“They’re minions. Are you even paying attention?”

Bucky made a sound and finally tore his eyes away from Steve, looking back at the screen where said minion things were scurrying about like a bunch of lemmings. They were kind of cute, he supposed.

After about a minute, Bucky’s eyes wandered back to Steve again, who was fully glued to the screen, wearing that particular _look _to his face again. Bucky’s lips quirked up. He could already imagine what the next few pages on Steve’s new sketchbook would be filled with.

(Bucky accidentally found a plastic file in Steve’s bag with a few doodles on receipt papers just yesterday, and a quick online search led him to drag Steve out for a mysterious evening walk, down to a very specific street where he knew had an art shop, making dumb excuses to go in and look around. Steve knew exactly what he was doing, of course, but he went along with it, flashing Bucky a rare smile when he was handed a full bag of new art supplies.)

“You’re not watching again,” Steve accused a few seconds later without looking up from the screen.

Bucky snorted.

Well, he had better things to look at anyway.

He didn’t mention that out loud of course, but he indulged Steve nonetheless, turning his attention back to the movie, shoulder bumping into Steve’s again.

Steve didn’t move away, the warmth lingering through their clothes, and Bucky–

_Smiled._

──═══ ⋆☆⋆ ═══──

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of part II. Final part is the epilogue :)


	7. Epilogue: Took you long enough, gramps!

## Epilogue

══☆══ ⋆✪⋆ ══☆══

Tony was currently in the lab guzzling down his fifth cup of coffee.

It had been approximately a year and a half since he got chewed out by Fury for crashing SHIELD’s systems and letting their greatest asset escape with a known war criminal, but really, it wasn’t as if SHIELD was putting in extra effort into tracking the two down anyway – not that it would have worked if they tried. Tony had programmed in extensive algorithms to ensure the two grandpas were untraceable by anyone – except for him of course, because he was awesome.

The grumpy one obviously knew Tony was tracking them, but he hadn’t gotten rid of his forty-ninth burner phone yet in a year and a half, so Tony was going to consider that as a win – even if he still never replied to any of Tony’s messages (they were now up to a solid ninety-five million and two dollars, because why not).

The pair initially stayed in New York, getting an apartment and staying there for a good six months, then leaving to travel the world for another six months, before returning back to New York where they remained.

Last Tony checked, the grumpy one picked up a hobby of painting of all things, and he was surprisingly very good at it (the last four attempts to commission him to paint a duck dressed as Iron Man had proven unsuccessful). The popsicle one, on the other hand, had grown out his hair like some sort of hippie, spending his time reading books and watching movies. Living a nice, cute domestic life, rarely leaving the house without the other one by their side – although some things never changed, and Tony would still read reports from time to time of people claiming to be saved by a pair of muscled men, one brunet and one blond (usually armed with a metallic shield).

Then all of a sudden, the Avengers siren blared to life above him and Tony immediately put his coffee down.

“JARVIS?”

“Analysing threat now, sir.”

Tony hurriedly put on his suit, blasting out of the tower to the rooftop where the rest of the Avengers were already assembling.

Turned out, it was mad scientist experiment gone wrong day, and now there was an army of giant mutated velociraptors on the loose, each the size of a house. Until they opened their mouths, and Tony discovered first-hand just how friendly there were to his suit of titanium alloy, with their very sharp teeth and very hot fireballs spitting out, because of course giant velociraptors weren’t enough, they had to be _fire-breathing _giant velociraptors as well.

Several buildings were already up in flames, people were running wild, and the mad scientist that created his pride and joy had since been turned to lizard chow. Good riddance.

Tony was swerving left and right constantly to dodge all the flame blasts and claw swipes – how were they both big _and _fast? _And _fire-breathing? Who thought this was a good idea?!

Thor’s lightning was keeping the reptiles contained so far, and Hulk was currently using one as his own personal flamethrower, squeezing the dinosaur’s tummy like a squeaky toy to force it to shoot out more flames (it would have been a hilarious moment if not for the actual flames and sharp claws). That left the two spies to tackle their own evil incarnation of Yoshi brought to life, throwing explosive grenades into the dinosaur’s mouth like every cliché monster’s weak spot. 

Then a particularly nimble lizard leapt up and sunk a claw into Tony’s rocket boot, and the screens on his display immediately flashed red.

“Shit!”

Tony floundered and crashed to the ground, rocket boot fizzling out.

“Well fuck me.”

The culprit wannabe Charizard started charging towards him, tail swinging from side to side, jaws unhinging and–

A bright arc of blue, red and white struck the velociraptor right in the eyeball, and the beast screeched out loud, stumbling back.

It ricocheted back to its owner and Tony jerked to the side, totally unable to help the way his face broke out in a grin.

“Took you long enough, gramps!”

“Stark,” Steve greeted before throwing his shield up to the side, which none other than Bucky Barnes leapt up to catch, hurling the shield towards Godzilla Junior again, preparing to charge. It knocked out one of its teeth, and the lizard roared in pain.

Steve caught the shield when it returned, and Tony squinted at the thing, now painted with rings of white, blue and red, with a giant white star in the middle.

“Someone’s feeling patriotic today. It’s not even fourth of July yet,” Tony muttered, pulling out two spare communicators from a suit compartment. “Anyway, welcome to the party.” He tossed both earpieces to Steve and Bucky. The two caught them easily.

Then came a beep at his ear, and the Captain’s voice crackled through.

“What’s the situation?”

“Is that the good Captain?” Thor asked, at the same moment Hulk let out a loud roar, managing to sound both enraged and triumphant all at once.

“About damn time!” Clint laughed. “Hey, where’s the betting pool up to again?”

“You guys owe me fifty dollars,” Natasha said.

“WHAT?!”

There was a second beep.

“I’m here too,” another voice sounded.

“Oh my god, is that– Is that–”

“Bucky Barnes. The Soldier, reporting in.” Bucky was grinning, saluting thin air with two fingers.

“OH MY GOD!” Clint basically screeched. “THIS IS THE BEST DAY _EVER!!_”

“Uh fire-breathing velociraptors, Katniss? Jurassic Park gone wrong? Barney and Friends from hell? Definitely _not _what anyone would call–”

“Stark. _Focus_,” Steve hissed, just as Satan Barney in front of them started charging out again with a roar, mouth wide. Ugh, definitely not kid-friendly.

“You still have your missiles?” Bucky questioned.

Tony checked his display.

“One.”

“Then you’d better not miss,” Steve said.

Tony simply grinned, shooting up into the air with his remaining rocket boot, taking aim, and firing.

There was a loud explosion.

Velociraptor guts rained down on them, skull blown right open. Yupp, definitely not kid-friendly.

He turned back to Steve.

“So…” Tony trailed off. “Later, after all this is done. I was thinking food. Lunch – well actually dinner.”

There was a long silence, both in person as well as through the comms, everyone gone silent.

“Stevie likes ramen,” Bucky suddenly piped up gleefully.

_“Bucky.” _Steve cast a glance over, exasperated. (At the same time, Thor asked in the background, “What is this…ramen you speak of?”, to which Clint replied, “Food from the heavens, my friend. From the heavens.”)

“Aww _Stevie?_” Tony grinned. “That’s adorable. Hey, can we call you Stevi–”

“No.”

“Okay, then how about–”

“No.”

“You didn’t hear it ye–”

“No.”

“Fine whatever, you can remain gramps for the rest of eternity then,” Tony declared. “And anyway, ramen was it? I know a chef. Fabulous place, great view too.” He tried for innocent-casual, but he had a good feeling that he didn’t need to anyway.

There was a pause. Steve looked to Bucky, then back to Tony, shiny shield still in hand.

“Sure,” he said, lips curling up into an almost smile. It was a good look on him, so much better than that Grinch scowl he had on every day. The other Avengers started cheering through the comms. “You’re paying though.”

“I’m _always _paying!” Tony grumbled, even though he was full-out grinning.

“You also owe me ninety-five million,” Steve added as he and Bucky started charging towards the next awaiting dinosaur down the street. “And two dollars!”

“WHAT?!” 

══☆══ ⋆✪⋆ ══☆══

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! Thank you so much for sticking around and reading this fic! I truly had a blast writing this fic and participating in the big bang! :) Check out the art WitchyLurker made in chapter 3 or click [here!](https://witchylurker.tumblr.com/post/188760292746/ever-since-steve-could-remember-he-always-wanted). They are honestly so talented and incredible :D 
> 
> (Also spoiler alert: Tony never paid up.)


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